Skip to main content

Full text of "The plays of Philip Massinger, in four volumes"

See other formats 


Google 


This  is  a  digital  copy  of  a  book  that  was  preserved  for  generations  on  library  shelves  before  it  was  carefully  scanned  by  Google  as  part  of  a  project 

to  make  the  world's  books  discoverable  online. 

It  has  survived  long  enough  for  the  copyright  to  expire  and  the  book  to  enter  the  public  domain.  A  public  domain  book  is  one  that  was  never  subject 

to  copyright  or  whose  legal  copyright  term  has  expired.  Whether  a  book  is  in  the  public  domain  may  vary  country  to  country.  Public  domain  books 

are  our  gateways  to  the  past,  representing  a  wealth  of  history,  culture  and  knowledge  that's  often  difficult  to  discover. 

Marks,  notations  and  other  maiginalia  present  in  the  original  volume  will  appear  in  this  file  -  a  reminder  of  this  book's  long  journey  from  the 

publisher  to  a  library  and  finally  to  you. 

Usage  guidelines 

Google  is  proud  to  partner  with  libraries  to  digitize  public  domain  materials  and  make  them  widely  accessible.  Public  domain  books  belong  to  the 
public  and  we  are  merely  their  custodians.  Nevertheless,  this  work  is  expensive,  so  in  order  to  keep  providing  tliis  resource,  we  liave  taken  steps  to 
prevent  abuse  by  commercial  parties,  including  placing  technical  restrictions  on  automated  querying. 
We  also  ask  that  you: 

+  Make  non-commercial  use  of  the  files  We  designed  Google  Book  Search  for  use  by  individuals,  and  we  request  that  you  use  these  files  for 
personal,  non-commercial  purposes. 

+  Refrain  fivm  automated  querying  Do  not  send  automated  queries  of  any  sort  to  Google's  system:  If  you  are  conducting  research  on  machine 
translation,  optical  character  recognition  or  other  areas  where  access  to  a  large  amount  of  text  is  helpful,  please  contact  us.  We  encourage  the 
use  of  public  domain  materials  for  these  purposes  and  may  be  able  to  help. 

+  Maintain  attributionTht  GoogXt  "watermark"  you  see  on  each  file  is  essential  for  in  forming  people  about  this  project  and  helping  them  find 
additional  materials  through  Google  Book  Search.  Please  do  not  remove  it. 

+  Keep  it  legal  Whatever  your  use,  remember  that  you  are  responsible  for  ensuring  that  what  you  are  doing  is  legal.  Do  not  assume  that  just 
because  we  believe  a  book  is  in  the  public  domain  for  users  in  the  United  States,  that  the  work  is  also  in  the  public  domain  for  users  in  other 
countries.  Whether  a  book  is  still  in  copyright  varies  from  country  to  country,  and  we  can't  offer  guidance  on  whether  any  specific  use  of 
any  specific  book  is  allowed.  Please  do  not  assume  that  a  book's  appearance  in  Google  Book  Search  means  it  can  be  used  in  any  manner 
anywhere  in  the  world.  Copyright  infringement  liabili^  can  be  quite  severe. 

About  Google  Book  Search 

Google's  mission  is  to  organize  the  world's  information  and  to  make  it  universally  accessible  and  useful.   Google  Book  Search  helps  readers 
discover  the  world's  books  while  helping  authors  and  publishers  reach  new  audiences.  You  can  search  through  the  full  text  of  this  book  on  the  web 

at|http: //books  .google  .com/I 


THE   . 


PLAYS 


OF 


PHILIP   MASSINGER, 

IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. 
WITH  NOTES  CRITICAL  AND  EXPLANATORY,    . 

Bt  W.  GIFFORD,  Esq.  / 


BAUD  TAMKX  IMTIDBAS  TATI  QQIM  PULPITA  PAtCVKT. 


THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

VOLUME  THE  THIRIX 

COMTAIMIHe 

THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

THE  PICTURE. 

THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

A  NEWVaY  to  pay  OLD  DEBTS. 


LONDON: 

•■■■■■■■■HMaii^HiHBHa 

rRIHTED  VOR  O.  AKD  If.  NICOL  ;  F.  C.  AND  J.  RITIKGTON  ;  CADHJL 
AND     OATIES;     LONGMAN    AND    CO.;      LACKINOTON    AND    CO.; 

J.  barker;  white  and  Cochrane;  r.  h.  etans;  j.  hurray; 

J.  MA'VniAN;   J.  FAULDER  ;    AND  R.  BALDWIN  ; 

^  /T.  Buimer  and  C:  OevehmU^Rom^  St.  Jrnmn^n. 

^  1813. 


Ov- 


THE 


MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


vol..  III. 


B 


The  Maid  or  Honour.]  This  ^^  Tragicomedy"  does  not 
appear, mider  the  present  title,  in  the  Office-book  of  Sir  H. ' 
Herbert:  but  a  play  called  the  Honour  of  Women  wsls  entered 
there  May  6thy  1628,  which  Mr.  Malone  conjectures  to  be  the 
piece  before  us.  He  speaks,  however,  with  some  hesitation  on 
the  subject,  as  a  play  ot  Massinger's,  called  t^e  Spanish  Viceroy^ 
or  the  Honour  of  IVomen^  was  entered  at  Stationer's  Hall,  for 
Humphrey  Moseiy,  in  1653.  If  this  double  title  be  correct,  of 
which  we  may  reasonably  entertain  a  doubt,  the  plays  cannot 
be  the  same  ;  for  among  the  dramatis  personse  of  the  present,  no 
such  character  as  a  Spanish  viceroy  is  to  be  found.  Sicily,  in- 
deed, was  long  goTerned  by  yiceroys  from  Spain;  but  Roberto 
is  here  styled  King,  and  constantly  acts  from  himself. 

Mr.  Malone  sayl,  that  the  Maid  of  Honour  was  printed  in  1631. 
All  the  copies  which  I  have  seen  (for  there  is  but  one  edition) 
are  dated  163^,  which  was  probably  the  earliest  period  of  its 
appearance ;  as  we  learn  from  the  commendatory  verses  prefixed 
to  it -by  Sir  Aston  Cockayne,  that  it  was  printed  after  the  Em» 
peror  of  the  East,  which  was  not  giren  to  the  press  till  this  year. 

This  Play  was  always  a  favourite,  and,  indeed,  with  strict  jus- 
tice ;  for  it  has  a  thousand  claims  to  admiration  and  applause. 
It  was  frequently  acted,  the  old  title-page  tells  us,  ''  at  the 
Phoenix  in  Drurie-lane,  with  good  allowance,  by  the  Queen's 
Majesties  servants/'  An  attempt  was  made  some  years  since 
(1785)  to  revive  it^  jby  Mr.  Kemble,  but^  as  I  have  been  informed, 
without  success. 


TO 


My  most  honoured  Friends,  ' 

Sir  FRANCIS  FOUAMBE;  Knt.  and  Baet. 


AND 


Sir  THOMAS  BLAND,  Knt. 

-l  If  AT  you  have  been,  and  continued  so  for  many  years, 
since  you  vouchsafed  to  own  me,  patrons  to  me  and  my 
despised  studies,  I  cannot  but  with  ail  humble  thankfulness  aC" 
knowleij^e :  and  living,  as  you  have  done,  inseparable  in  your 
friendship,  (notwithstanding  all  differences,  and  suits  in  law 
arising  between  you,*)  I  held  it  as  impertinent  as  absurd,  in 
the  presentment  of  my  service  in  this  kind,  to  divide  you.  A 
free  confession  (f  a  debt  in  a  meaner  man,  is  the  amplest 
satisfactiou  to  his  superiors ;  and  I  heartily  wish,  that  the 
world  may  take  notice,  and  from  myself,  that  1  had  not  to 
this  time  subsisted,  but  that  2  was  supported  by  yourfrequent 
courtesies  and  favours.  '  When  your  more  serious  occasions 
will  give  you  leave,  you  may  please  to  peruse  this  trifle,  and 
peradventure  find  something  in  it  that  may  appear  worthy  of 
your  protection.  Receive  %t,  I  beseech  you,  as  a.  testimony  cf 
his  duty  who,  while  he  lives,  resolves  to  be 

Truly  and  sincerely  devoted  to  your  service* 

PHILIP  MASSINGER. 


*  Notwithstanding  aU  differences,  and  suits  in  law  arising  be- 
txoeenyou^l  The  suits  in  law  subsisting  between  these  fast  friends 
ofMassinger, — sir  Francis  Fol  jam  be  of  Walton,  in  tlie  county 
of  Derby,  and  sir  Thomas  Bland,  of  Kippax  Park,  in  the  county 
of  York) — originated  in  a  que^tiooi  «s  to  tlie  jrigbt  of  working 
some  c#al  mines.    Gilchrist. 


DRAMATIS  Pi;RSONiE. 

Roberto,  king  o/" Sicily. 
Ferdinand,  duke  of  Vrhm. 

Bertoldo,  the  king's  natural  brother^  a  knight  of 
Malta. 

Gonzaga,  a  knight  ^  Malta,  general  to  the  dutchess 

o/' Sienna. 
Astutio,  a  counsellor  of  state. 
Fulgentio,  the  minion  of  Roberto. 
Adorni,  a  follow^  of  C?imioWs  father. 
Siguior  Sylli,  a  foolish  self-lover.  ' 

Gasparo'  }  ^^^  ^^^*  *^^^  city -bred. 
Pierio,  a  colonel  to  Gonzaga. 

Ja%m'4^'  }  ^P*^^^^  *^  Gonzaga. 

ru  o,  1   captains  to  duke  Ferdinand. 

-Rz/Aer  Paulo,  a  priest^  Camiola's  confessor. 
Ambassador  from  the  duke  of  Urbin. 
A  Bishops 
A  Page. 

m 

Aurelia,  dutchess  o/*  Sienna. 
Camiola,  the  maid  of  honour. 
Clarinda,  her  woman.. 

Scout,  Soldiers,  Gaoler,  Attendants, 
Servants,  ^c. 

SCENE,  partly  in  Sicily, and  partly  i«/AeSiennese, 


y 


THE 


MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


ACT  I.    SCENE  I. 
Palermo.    A  State-room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Astutio  and  Adoeni.  «^ 

jp  

^^-v  Ador.  Good  day  to  your  lordship. 
Ast.  Thanks,  Adorni. 

Ador.  May  I  presume  to  ask  if  the  ambassador 
Employed  by  Ferdinand,  the  duke  of  Urbin, 
Hath  audience  this  morning? 

Enter  Fulgentio. 

Ast.  Tis  uncertain ; 
For,  though  a  counsellor  of  state/ 1  am  not 
Of  the  cabinet  council :  but  there's  one,  if  he 

please, .. 
That  may  resolve  you. 

Ador.  I  will  move  him. — Sir! 
Ful.  If  you've  a  suit,  shew  water,*  1  am  blind 
else. 

,  '  Skew  water^  i.  e.  to  dear  his  sight.    A  prOTerbial  peri« 
phrasis  for  a  brie^  which,  in  Massinger's  days,  (though  happri*  ' 
aot  unce,)  was  found  to  be  the  only  coHyrium  for  the  eyes  or'a 
cooxtier. 

vox.  III.  *  C 


6  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Adorl  A  suit ;  yet  of  a  nature  not  to  prove 
The  quarry  that  you  hawk  for :  if  your  words 
Are  not  like  Indian  warest  and  every  scruple 
To  be  weigh'd  and  rated,  one  poor  syllable^ 
Vouchsafed  in  answer  of  a  fair  demand^ 
Cannot  deserve  a  fee. 

Ful.  It  seems  you  are  ignorant, 
I  neither  speak  nor  hold  my  peace  for  nothing ; 
And  yet,  for  oncfe,  I  care  not  if  I  answer 
One  single  question,  gratis. 

Ador.  I  much  thank  you. 
Hath  the  ambassador  audience,  sir,  to-day  ? 

FuL  Ye% 

Ado7\  At  whatbour? 

FuL  I  promised  not  so  much. 
A  syllable  you  begg'd,  my  charity  gave  it ; 
Move  me  no  fui*ther.  [Exit. 

Ast.  This  you  wonder  at : 
With  me,  'tis  usual. 
r)^  Ador.  Pay  you,  sir,  what  is  he  ? 

'^  \"      Ast.  A  gentleman,  yet  no  lord."  He  hath  some 

drops 
Of  the  king's  blood  running  in  his  veins,  derived 
Some  ten  degrees  off.    His  revenue  lies 
In  a  narrow  compass,  the  king's  ear;  and  yields 

him 
Every  hour  a  fruitful  harvest.     Men  may  talk 
Of  three  crops  in  a  year  in  the  Fortunate  Islands, 
Or  profit  made  by  wool;  but,  while  there  are 

suitors. 
His  sheepshearing,  nay,  shaving  to  the  quick, 

• 

*  A%t.  A  gentleman,  yet  no  lord.]  Would  not  the  satire  be 
more  apparent,  if  the  sentence  were  reversed  ?  As  it  stands  now, 
it  appears  to  contradict  the  next  line,  and  is,  indeed,  scarcely 
intelligible.  Probably,  it  is  merely  an  accidental  transposition 
of  the  press,  and  should  be  readL  No  gentleman^  yet  a  lord* 


THE  WAtD  OF  HONOUR.  7 

I 

Is  in  every  <}uarter  of  the  moon,  and  consftant 
.  In  the  time  of  trussing  a  point,  he  can  undo, 
Or  make  a  man :  his  play  or  recreation, 
Is  to  raise  this  up,  or  pull  down  that;  and,  though 
He  never  yet  took  orders,  makes  more  bishops 
In  Sicily,  than  the  pope  himself. 

Enter  Be^toldo,  Gasparo,  Antonio,  and 

a  Servant.    * 

Ador.  Most  strange ! 

Ast.  The  presence  fills.    He  in  the  Malta  habit 
Is  the  natural  brother  of  th^  king — a  by-blow. 

Ador.  I  understand  you. 

Gasp.  Morrow  to  my  uncle. 

Ant.  Atid  my  late  guardian  :-=-but  at  length  I 
have 
The  reins  in  my  own  hands. 

Ast.  Pray  you,  use  them  well. 
Or  you'll  too  late  repent  it. 

Bert.  With  this  jewel 
Presented  to  Camiola,  prepare. 
This  night,  a  visit  for  me.  [Exit  SeroantJ]  I  shall 

have 
Your  company,  gallants,  I  perceive,  if  that 
^  The  king  will  hear  of  war. 

Ant.  Sir,  I  have  horses 
Of  the  best  breed  in  Naples,  fitter  far 
To  break  a  rank  than  crack  a  lance  ;  and  are, 
In  their  career,  of  such  incredible  swiftness. 
They  outstrip  swallows. 

Bert.  And  such  may  be  useful 
To  run  away  with,  should  we  be  defeated : 
You  are  well  provided,  signior. 

Ant.  Sir,  excuse  me ; 

♦Ca 


6  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

AU  of  their  race,  by  instincti  know  a  cowurd, 
And,';H}Q  rathe  burthen:  they  common,  like  lights 

ning;  :    ; 

Foundered  ina  retreat.    . 

Bert  By  no,  means  back  thenr; 
Unless  you  know  your  courage  sympathize   '. 
With  the  daring  of  your  horse. 

Jnt.  My  lord,  this  is  bitter. 

Gasp,  I  will  rai^e  me  a  company  of  foot ; 
And,  when  at  push  of  pike  I  am  to  enter 
A  breach,  to  shew  my  valour  I  have  bought'  me 
An  armour  cannon-proof. 

Bert  You  will  not  leap,  then. 
O'er  an  outwork,  in  your  shirt? 

Gasp.  I  do  not  like 
Activity  that  way* 

Bert.  Ybii  had  rather  stand 
A  mark  to  try  their  muskets  on  ?  ' 

Gasp.  If  I  do  >         '      ^  . 

No  good,  I'll  do  no  hurt. 

&rt.  Tis  in  you,  signior, 
A  Christian  resolution,  and  becomes  you  I 
But  I  will  not  discourage  you. 

Ant.  You  are,  sir, 
A  knight  of  Malta,  and,  as  I  have  heard. 
Have  serv'd  against  the  Turk. 

Bert,  'Tis  true. 

Ant,'  Pray  you,  shew  us 
The  difference  between  the  city  valour, 
And  service  in  the  field. 

Beit.  'Tis  somewhat  more 
Than  roaring  in  a  tavern  or  a  brothel, 

to  shew  my  valeur^  I  have  bought  fne] 


Coxeter  and  M.  Mason  read,  I  hare  brought  me :  the  old  copjr 
is  surely  right. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  9 

Or  to  steal  a  constable^  from  a  sleeping  watch,-  ^ 
Then. burn* their halbercis;  or,  safe  guarded  by  ' 
Youn  tenant's  sons,  to  .carry  away  a  May-pole 
From'ajieiglthour.village.  You  will  not  findthere^ 
Your  masters  of  dependencies*,  to  take  up 
A  drunken  brawl,  or,  to  ;get  you  the  names 

^  Or  to  steal  a  constable/rom  a  sleeping  Q^^cii^]^The  constable 
was  tiie  captain  of  the  band;  this  therefore  was  to .  deprJTe 
these  trusty  guardians'  of  the  nighty  of  their  leader.  For  this  ej;* 
pression,  so  exquisitely  humorous,  thc-modern  editors  gire  us^ 

Or  to  steal  a  lanthorn/rom  a  sleeping  watch  I . 

H  is  scarcely  possible  to  mark  these  wanton  deviations  from  the 
original,  without  some  degree  of  warmth.  By  no  process  in 
blundering  could  lauthorn  be  written  for  constable :  the  editors^ 
therefore,  must  have  gratuitously  taken  upon  themseWes  the 
reformation  of  the  language.  Pity  for  the  author  must  be  miied 
with  our  indignation  at  their  perverse  temerity,  when  we  thus 
find  tliem  banishing  his  most  witty  expressions  from  the  text, 
under  the  bold  i3ea  of  improving  it. 

It  is  the  more  singular  that  they  should  do  this  in  the  present 
case,  as  the  same  thought,  in  nearly  the  same  words,  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Renegado.    See  vol.  iL  p.  210. 
.    *.      ,  ..  -■; — -you  will  not ^nd  there. 

Four  masters' of  dependencies  &c.]  Masters  of  dependencies 
were  a  set  of  needy- bravoes,  who  undertook  to  ascertain  the 
authentic  grounds  of  a  quarrel, 'and,  in  some  cases,  to  settle  it 
for  the  timorous  or  unskilful.     Thus  Beaumont  and  Fletcher : ' 


"  Your  high  offer, 


**  Taught  by  .the  masters  of  dependpiciesj,   "* 

^'  That,  by  compounding  differences  'tween  otlKrs, 

''  Supply  their  own  necessities,  with  me 

«  Will  never  carry  it."  The  Elder  Brother. 

In  this  punctilious  age,  all  matters  relative  to  duelling  were 
arranged,  in  set  treatises,  with  a  gravity  that,  in  a  business  less 
serious,  would  be  infinitely  ridiculous.  Troops  of  disbanded 
,aoldier8,  or  rather  orsuch  as  pretended  to  be  so,  took  up  the 
'^  noble  science  of  arms^"  and,  with  the  use  of  the  small  sword, 
(then  a  novelty,)  taught  a  jargon  respecting  the  various  modes 
of  '^  honourable  quarrelling,''  which,  though  seemingly  calcu- 
lated to  baffle  alike  the  patience  and  the  understanding,  was  a 
fashionable  object  of  study.    The  dramatic  poets,  faithful  to 


10  THE  MAIP  OF  HONOUR. 

Of  valiant  chc^valiers,  fellows  that  will  be, 

For  a  cloak  with  thrice-died  velvety  and  a  cast 

suit, 
Kick'd  down  the  stairs.    A  knave  with  half  a 

breech  there, 
And  no  shirt,  (being  a  thing  superfluous. 
And  worn  out  of  his  memory,)  if  you  bear  not 
Yourselves  both  in,  and  upright,  with  a  provant 

sword* 
Will  slash  your  scarlets  and  your  plush  a  new 

way ; 
Or,  with  the  hilts,  thunder  about  your  ears 
Such  music  as  will  make  your  worships  dance 
To  the  doleful  tune  oi  LachrymceJ 

Gasp.  I  must  tell  you 
In  private,  as  you  are  my  princely  friend, 
I  do  not  like  such  fiddlers. 

the  moral  end  of  their  high  art,  combated  this'  contagious  foil  j 
^ith  the  united  po\^ers  ot  wit  and  humour;  and,  after  a  long 
and  weU  conducted  struggle,  succeeded  in  rendering  it  as  con- 
temptible as  it  was  odious,  and  finally  suppressed  it  altogether* 

•  '    ■  mth  a  proTant  sword  &c.]    A 

pr<yoant  sword  is  a  plain,  unornamented  sword,  such  as  the  army 
is  supplied  with.  Thus,  in  Every  Man  in  his  Humour^  when 
Master  Stephen  produces  his  ^^  pure  Toledo,"  Bobadill  exclaims, 

"  This  a  Toledo  ?  pish  I  - 

*'  Steph.  Why  do  you  pish  ? 

<^  £06.  A  Fleming,  by  heaf  en !  I'll  buy  them  for  a  guilder 
a-piece,  %n  I  would  have  a  thousand  of  them  :  a  poor  prOm 
vant  rapier;  no  better." 

Property  speaking,  provant  means  provisions  :  thus  Petillius, 
in  the  tragedy  of  Bonduca : 

"  All  my  company 
^^  Are  now  in  loTe  ;  ne'er  think  of  meat,  nor  talk 
**  Of  what  provant  is.'' 

But  our  old  writers  extend  it  U>  all  the  articles  which  make  ip 
the  magazines  of  an  army. 

It  appears,  from  the  pointing  of  the  former  editors,  that  they 
had  not  fhe  slightest  notion  of  what  their  author  was  saying* 

7  To  the  doleful  tune  9^'Lachrymas.]  See  the  Picture* 


TBE  MAID  OF  HONOUR:  11 

Bert.  No  !  they  arc  useful 
Fot  your  imitation  ;•  I  remember  you, 
When  you  came  first  to  the  court,  and  talk'd  of 

nothing 
But  your  rents  and  your  entradas,  ever  .chiming 
The  golden  bells  in  your  pockets ;  you  believed 
The  taking  of  the  wall  as  a  tribute  due  to 
Your  gaudy  clothes ;  and  could  not  walk  at  mid* 

night 
Without  a  causeless  quarrel,  as  if  men 
Of  coarser  outsid^s  were  in  duty  bound 
To  suffer  your  affronts  :  but,  wnen  you  had  been 
Cudgeird  well  twice  or  thrice,  and  from  the 

doctrine* 
Made  profitable  uses,  you  concluded. 
The  sovereign  means  to  teach  irregular  heirs 
Civility,  with  conformity  of  manners. 
Were. two  or  three  sounci  beatings. 

Ant.  I  confess 
They  did  much  good  upon  me. 

Gasp.  And  on  me : 
The  principles  that  they  read  were  sound. 

Bert.  You'll  find 
The  like  instructions  in  the  camp. 

Ast.  The  king  ! 

A  flourish.    Enter  Roberto,  Fulgentio,  Am- 
bassador, and  Attendants. 

Rob.  {ascends  the  throne.^  We  sit  prepared  to 

hear. 
Amb.  Your  majesty 

'  Tor  your  imitation;]  Thus  the  qaarto:  Mr.  M.  Maflon 
reads,  For  jour  initiatibn;  an  alteration  as  foid  of  meaning  as 
of  harmony* 

— — and  from  the  doctrine 

Made profUaUe  naes,  ftc]  See  the  Emperor  of  the  East. 


12  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUE. 

*  Hath  been  long  since  familiar,  I  doubt  npt, 
With  the  desperate  fortunes  of  my  Iprd ;  and  pity 
Of  the  much  that  your  confederate  hath  suffer'd^ 
You  being  his  last  refuge,  may  persuade  you 
Not  alone  to  compassionate,  but  to  lend 
Your  royal  aids  to  stay  him  in  his  fall 
To  certain  ruin.     He,  too  late,  is  conscious 
That  his  ambition  to  encroach  upon 
His  neighbour's  territories,  with  the  danger  of 
His  liberty,  nay,  his  life,  hath  brought  in  question 
His  own  inheritance  :^  but  youth,  and  heat 
Of  blood,  in  your  interpretation,  may 
Both  plead  and  mediate  for  him.  I  must  grant  it 
An  error  in  him,  being  denied  the  fayours 
Of  the  fair  princess  of  Sienna,  (though 
He  sought  her  in  a  noble  way,)  to  endeavour 
To  force  affection  by  surprisal  of 
Her  principal  seat,  Sienna. 
Rob. ,  Which  now  proves 
The  seat  of  his  captivity,  not  triumph  : 
Heaven  is  still  just. 

Amb.  And  yet  that  justice  is 
To  be  with  mercy   tempered,  which  heaven's 

deputies 
Stand  bound  to  minister.     The  injured  dutchess^ 
By  reason  taught,  as  nature,  could  not,  with 
The  reparation  of  her  wrongs,  but  aim  at 
A  brave  revenge ;  and  my  lord  feels^  too  late, 
That  innocence  will   find   friends.     The  great 

Gonzaga, 
The  honour  of  his  order,  (I  must  praise 
Virtue,. though  in  an  enemy,)  he  whose  fights. 
And  conquests  hold  one  number,  rallying  up 
Her  scatter'd  troops,  before  we  could  get  time 
To  victual  or  to  man  the  conquer'd  city. 
Sat  down  before  it ;  and,  presuming  that 
Tis  not  to  be  relieved,  admits  no  parley, 


y^ 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  13 

Our  flags  of  truce  hung  out  in  vain :  nor  will  he 

Lend  an  ear  to  composition,  but  exacts, 

With  the  rendering  up  the  town,  the  goods  and 

lives 
'Of  all  within  the  walls,  and  of  all  sexes^ 
To  be  at  his  discretion. 
Roh.  Since  injustice 
In  your  duke,  meets  this  correction,  can  you 

press  us, 
With  any  seeming  argument  of  reason, . 
In  foolish  pity  to  decline^  his  dangers, 
To  draw  tnem  on  ourself  ?  ShaU  we  yiot  be 
Warned  by  his  harms?    The  league  proclaim'd 

between  us. 
Bound  neither  of  us. further  than  to  aid 
Each  other,  if  by  foreign  force  invaded ; 
And  so  far  in  my  honour  I  was  tied. 
But  since,  without  our  counsel,  or  allowance, 
He  hath  ta'en  strms ;  with  his  good  leave,  he  must 
Excuse  us  if  we  steer  not  on  a  rock 
We  see,  and  may  avoid.    Let  other  monarchs 
Contend  to  be  made  glorious  by  proud  war, 
And,  with  the  blood  of  their  poor  subjects,  pur- 
chase 
Increase  of  empire,  and  augment  their  cares 
In  keeping  that  which  was  by  wrongs  extorted, 

*  In  foolish  pity  to  decline  his  dangers, 
To  druw  them  on  ourself  f]  To  decline^  here  means  to  diTert 
I  -    from  their  coarse ;  in  which  sense  it  is  freqnentlj  met  with  in . 

our  old  poets.    Thus  Jonson  : 

'^ — : who  declining 

**  Their  way,  not  able,  for  the  throng,  to  follow, 

"  Slipt  down  the  Gemonies."  S^anus. 

Again,  in  his  Forest : 

*'  This  makes,  that  wisely  you  decline  your  life 
^'  Far  from  the  maze  of  custom,  error,  strife." 


14  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Gilding  unjust  invasions  with  the  trim 

Of  glorious  conquests;  we,  that  would  be  known 

The  father  of  our  people,  in  our  study 

And  vigilance  for  their  safety,  must  not  change 

Their  ploughshares  into  swords,  and  force  them 

from 
The  secure  shade  of  their  own  vines,  to  be 
Scorch'd  with  the  flames  of  war ;  or,  for  our  sporty 
Expose  their  lives  to  ruin. 

Amb.  Will  you,  then. 
In  his  extremity,  forsake  your  friend? 

Rob.  No ;  but  preserve  ourself. 

Bert.  Cannot  the  beams 
Of  honour  thaw  your  icy  fears  ? 

Rob.  Who's  that  ? 

Bert.  A  kind  of  brother,  sir,   however  your 
subject ; 
Your  father's  son,  and  one  who  blushes  that 
You  are  not  heir  to  his  brave  spirit  and  vigour, 
As  to  his  kingdom. 

Rob.  How's  this  ! 

Bert.  Sir,  to  be 
His  living  chronicle,  and  to  speak  his  praise. 
Cannot  deserve  your  anger. 

Rob.  Where's  your  warrant 
For  this  presumption  ? 

Bert.  Here,  sir,  in  my  heart : 
Let  sycophants,  that  feed  upon  your  favours, 
Style  coldness  in  you  caution,  and  prefer 
Your  ease  before  your  honour ;  and  conclude, 
To  eat  and  sleep  supinely  is  the  end 
Of  human  blessings :  I  must  tell  you,  sir^ 
Virtue,  if  not  in  action,  is  a  vice ; 
And,  when  we  move  not  forward,  we  go  back- 
ward :* 

• I  muit  tell  you  J  sir. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  l^ 

Nor  is  this  pe^ce^the  nurse  of  drones  and  cowards. 
Our  health,  but  a  disease* 

Gasp.  Well  urged,  my  lord. 

Ant.  Perfect  what  is  so  well  begun. 

Amb.  And  bind 
My  lord  your  servant. 

Rob.  Hair-brain'd  fool !  what  reason 
Canst  thou  infer,  to  make  this  good  ? 

Bert.  A  thousand, 
Not  to  be  contradicted.     But  consider 
Whereyour  command  lies :'  'tis  not,  sir,  in  France, 
Spain,  Germany,  Portugal,  but  in  Sicily ; 
An  island,  sir.    Here  are  no  mines  of  gold 
Or  silver  to  enrich  you ;  no  worm  spins 
Silk  in  her  womb,  to  make  distinction 
Between  yoU  and  a  peasant,  in  your  habits  ; 
No  fish  lives  near  our  shores,  whose  blood  can  dye 

Virtue^  if  not  in  action^  is  a  vice  ; 

And  when  we  m<yce  not  forward^  toe  go  backward:}  This  is  a 
beautiful  improTement  on  Horace  : 

Paulum  sepultce  distat  inertia 
,Celata  virtus. 
It  is,  however,  surpassed  by  the  spirited  apostrophe  of  Jon* 
•on  to  himself: 

^  Where  dost  thou  careless  He  ^ 

'^  Buried  in  ease  and  sloth  ? 
^^  Knowledge,  that  sleeps,  doth  die ; 
**  And  this  security, 

*'  It  is  the  common  moth 
^^  That  eats  on  wit  and  arts,  and  so  destroys  them  both.^' 

Undenooods. 
The  last  line  of  the  text  alludes  to  the  Latin  adage :  Nonpro- 
gredi  est  regredi. 

i  ■■  But  consider 

Whereyour  command  Hes :  kc]  Dafies,  I  think,  sajs,  that  here 
b  an  allusion  to  the* affairs  of  this  country  under  James. 

Howerer  that  may  be,  it  is,  at  least,  certain  that  the  author, 
in  this  animated  description,  was  thinking  of  England  only.  He 
could  scarcely  be  so  ignorant  of  the  natural  history  of  Sicily  as 
not  to  know  how  little  of  his  description  applied  to  that  island  ; 
while  e?ery  word  of  it  was  perfectly  applicable  to  this. 


16  THE  MAID  OF  HOITOUR. 

V 

Scarlet  or  purple ;  all  that  we  possess. 
With  beasts  we  have  hi  common :  nature  did 
Design  us  to  be  warriors;  and  to  break  thrpygii 
Our  ring,  the  sea,  by  which*  we  are  environ'^.; 
And  we  by  force  must  fetch  in  what  is  wanting, 
Or  precious  to  us.  ,  Add  to  this,  we  are  '  : 
A  populous  nation,  and'  increase  so  fast. 
That,  if  we  by  our  providence  are  not  sent 
Abroad  in  colonies,  or  fall  by  the  sword. 
Not  Sicily,  thongh  now  it  were  more  fruitful 
Than  when  'twas  styled  the  Granary  of  great 

Rome, 
Can  yield  our  numerous  fry  bread:   we  must 

starve. 
Or  eat  up  one  another. 

Ador.  The  king  hears 
With  much  attention. 

Ast.  And  seems  moved  with  what 
Bertoldo  hath  deliver'd, 

Bert.  May  you  live  long,  sir. 
The  king  of  peace,  so  you  deny  not  us 
The  gjory  of  the  war ;  let  not  our  nerves 
Shrink  up  with*  §loth,  nor,  for  wafit  of  employment^ 
Make  younger   brothers   thieves :    it    is  their 

swords,  sir. 
Must  sow  and  reap  their  harvest.     If  examples 
May  move  you  more  than  arguments,  look  on 

England, 
The  empress  of  the  European  isles, 
And  unto  whom  alone  ours  yields  precedence : 
When  did  she  flourish  so,  as  when  she  was 
The  mistress  of  the  ocean,  her  navies 
Putting  a  girdle  round  about  the  world  ? 
When  the  Iberian  quaked,  her  worthies  named; 
And  the  fair  flower-de-luce  grew  pale,  set  by 
The  red  rose  and  the  white  ?  Let  not  our  armou? 
Hung  up,  or  our  unrigg'd  armada,  xuake  u& 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  IT 

Ridicafoiis  to  the  late  poor  snakes  our  neigbbours, 
Warm'd;  in  pur  bosoms,  and  to  whom  again 
We  iBaybe\terril)Je;  while  we  spend  our  hours 
Without  variety^  confined  to  drink. 
Dice,  cards,  or  whores.     Rouse  us,  sir,  from  the 

sleep 
Of  idleness,  and  redeem  our  mortgaged  honours* 
Your  birth,  and  justly,  claims  my  father's  king-* 

dom ;  ' 
But. hrs  heroic. mind  descends  to  me: 
I  will  confirm  so  much. 

Ador.  In  his  looks  he  seems 
To  break  ope  Janus*  temple. 

Ast.  How  these  younglings 
Take  fire  from  him  ! 

Ador.  It  works  an  alteration 
Upou  the  king. 

Ant.  I  can  forbear  no  longer : 
War,  war,  my  sovereign ! 

Tuh  The  king  appears 
Resolv'd,  and  does  prepare  to  speak.  .. 

Kob.  Think  not .  .  .  i  .  '.    •. ' .  », ;  • 

Our  counsel's  built  iipon  so  weak  a  base,'    ' 
As  to  be  overturned,  or  shaken,  with 
Tempestuous  winds  of  words.   As  I,  my  lord, 
Before  resolv'd  you,  I  will  not  engage 
My  person  vSl  this  quarrel ;  neither  press 
My  subjects  to  n^aintain  it :  yet,  to  shew 
My  rule  is  gentle,  and  that  I  have  feeling 
O'  your  master's  sufferings,  since  these  gallants, 

weary 
Of  the  happiness  of  peace,  desire  to  taste 
The  bitter  sweets  of  war,  we  do  consent 
That,  as  adventurers  and  volunteers. 
No  way  corapell'd  by  us,  they  may,  make  trial 
Of  their  boasted  valours. 

BtTt.  We  desire  no  more. 


18  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

» 

Rob.  'Tis  well ; ,  and,  but  ray  grant  in  this, 
expect  not 
Assistance  from  me.    Govern,  as  you  please. 
The  province  you  make  choice  of;  for,  I  vow 
By  all  things  sacred,  if  that  thou  miscarry 
In  this  rash  undertaking,  I  will  hear  it 
No  otherwise  than  as  a  sad  disaster. 
Fallen  on  a  stranger ;  nor  will  I  esteem 
That  man  my  subject,  who,  in  tliy  extremes, 
Ivk  purse  or  person  aids  thee.  Take  your  fortune : 
You  know  me ;  I  have  said  it.     So,  my  lord, 
You  have  my  absolute^  answer. 

Amb.  My  prince  pays, 
In  me,  his  duty. 

Rob.  Follow  me,  Fulgentio, 
And  you,  Astutio. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt  Roberto^  Fudgentio,  Astutio^ 
and  Attendants. 

Gasp.  What  a  frown  he  threw. 
At  his  departure,  on  you  ! 

Bert.  Let  him  keep 
His  smiles  for  his  state  catamite,  I  care  not. 

Ant.  Shall  we  aboard  to  night  ? 

Amb.  Your  speed,  my  lord, 
Doubles  the  benefit. 

Bert.  I  have  a  business 
Requires  dispatch ;   sonde  two  hours  hence  I'll 
meet  you.  [Exeunt. 


Soy  my  lordf 


You  have  my  absolute  antw>er.'\  Thus  the  quarto :  Coxeter  and 
Mr.  M.  Mason,  Tery  correctly  as  well  as  metrically,  read.  You 
^ove  my  whole  anva^.  How  little  has  hitherto  been  seen,  of 
Massingerl 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  19 


'      SCENE  II. 

« 

The  same*    -A  Room  in  Camiola's  House. 

Enter  Signior  Stlli,  walking  fantastically^  JoU 
Imed  by  Cahiola  and  Clarinda.  . 

Cavf.  Nay,  signior,  this  is  too  much  ceremony. 
In  my  own  house.  . 

SyL  What's  gracious  abroad, 
Must  be  in  private  practised. 

Clar.  For  your  mirth's  sake 
Let  him  alone  ;  he  has  been  all  this  morning 
In  practice  with  a  peruked  gentleman*usher. 
To  teach  him  his  true  amble,  and  his  posturesj, , 

[Sylli  walking  by^  and  practising. 
When  he  walks  before  a  lady. 

SyL  You  may,  madam, 
Perhaps,  believe  that  I  in  this  use  art, 
To  make  you  dote  upon  xk^j  by  exposing 
My  more  than  most  rare  features  to  your  view : 
But  I,  as  i  have  ever  done,  deal  simply  ; 
A  mark  of  sweet  simplicity,  ever  noted 
In  the  family  of  the  Syllis.    Therefore,  lady. 
Look  not  with  too  much  contemplation  on  me ; 
If  you  do,  you  are  in  the  suds. 

Cam.  You  are  no  barber  ? 

^l.  Fie,  no  1  not  L;  but  my  good  parts  have 
drawn 
More  loving  hearts,  out  of  fair  ladies  bellies^ 
Than  the  whole  trade  have  done  teethe 
.  Cam.  Is*t  possible  ?         , 

SyL    Yes,  and  they  live  too :  marry,  much 
condoling 


20  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

The  scorn  of  their  Narcissus,  as  they  call  me. 
Because  I  love  myself- 

Cam.  Without  a  riyal. 
What  philters  or  love-powders  do  j^ou  use, 
To  force  affection  ?  I  sec  nothing  in  . 
Your  person  but  I  dare  look  on,  yet  keep  ' 
My  own  poor  heart  stilL 

Syl.  You  are  warn'd — be  arm*d  ; 
And  do  not  lose  the  hope  of  such  a  husband, 
In  being  too  soon  enamour'd. 
^  Clar.  Hold  in  your  head,  . 
Or  you  must  have  a  martingal.   '         1  i.  /  t. 

Syl.  I  have  sworn 
Never  to  take  a  wife,  but  such  a  one, 

0  may  your  ladyship  prove  so  strong  !  as  can 
Hold  out  a  month  against  me. 

Cam.  Never  fear  it ; 
Though  your  best  taking  part,  your  wealth,  were 
trebled, 

1  would  not  woo  you.     Bat  since  in  your  pity 
You  please  to  give  me  caution^  tell  me  what 
Temptations  I  must  fly  from. 

Syl  The  first  is,     tP^ 
That  you  never  hear  me  sing,  for  J'm  a  Syren : 
If  you  observe,  when  I  warble,  the  dogs  howl, 
As  ravish'd  with  my  ditties  ;  and  you  will 
Run  mad  to  hear  me. 

Cam.  I  will  stop  my  ears, 
And  keep  my  little  wits. 

SyU  Next,  when  I  dance, 
And  come,  aloft  thus,  \captrs^  cast  not  a  sheep's 

eye 
Upon  the  quivering  of  my  calf. 

Cam.  Proceed;  sir.  " 

SyU  But  on  no  terms,  for  'tis  a  main  point, 
dream  not 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  %l 

O'  th'  strength/of  my  back;  though  it  will  beat 
a  burthen  •  "  f 

A^ith  any  porter. 

Cam.  I  mean  not  to  ride  you. 

SyL  Nor  I  your  little  ladyship,  till  you  have 
Perform'd  the  covenants.    Be  not  taken  with 
My  pretty  spider- fingers,  nor  my  eyes, 
That  twinkle  on  both  sides. 

Cam.  Was  there  ever  such 
A  piece  of  motley*  heard  of !  [A  knocking  within*] 
Who's  that  ?  [Esit  Clarinda.]  You  may  spare 
The  catalogue  of  my  dangers. 

SyL  No,  good  madam  ; 
I  have  not  told  you  half. 

Cam.  Enough,  good  signior  ; 
If  I  eat  more  of  such  sweetmeats,  I  shall  surfeit* — 

Re-enter  Clarinda*- 
Who  is't  ? 

Clar.  The  brother  of  the  king. 

SyL  Nay,  start  not. 
The  brother  of  the  king  !  is  he  no  more  ? 
Were  it  the  king  himself,  I'd  give  him  leave 
To  speak  his  mind  to  you,  for  I  am  not  jealous ; 
And,  to  assure  y6ur  ladyship  of  so  much, 
I'll  usher  him  in,  j^nd,  that  done — ^hide  myself, 

[Aside,  and  exit. 
\    Cam.  Camiola,  if  ever,  now  be  constant : 
This  is,  indeed,  a  suitor,  whose  sweet  presence. 
Courtship,   and  loving  language,    would  have 

stagger'd 
The  chaste  Penelope ;  and,  to  increase 
The  wonder,  did  not  modesty  forbid  it,  . 
I  should  ask  that  from  him  he  sues  to  me  faf :    - 

5  Such  apiece  ofmoHLef]  Snch  %fooU    AUadins  to  the  parti- 
coloured garments  worn  by  the  domestic/oo^  of  oar  ancestors. 

VOL.  III.  D 


f B        .  "THE  MAID  OF  HONOUaa. 

And  yet  «iy  reason,  like  a  tyrant,  tells  mc 
I  must  nor  give  nor  take  it/ 

Re-enter  Stlli  with  Beratoldo. 

SyL  I  must  tell  you, 
You  lose  your  labour.    Tis  ^uough  to  prove  it, 
Signior  Sylli  came  before  you;  and  you  know,  . 
First  come  first  serv'd:  yet  you  sball  have  my 

countenance 
7o  parley  with  her,  aivd  I'll  take  special  care 
That  none  shall  interrupt  you. 

Bert.  You  are  courteous. 

SyL  Come,  wench,  wilt  thou  hear  wisdom  ? 

Clar.  Yes,  from  you,  sir.  [They  walk  aside. 

,    Bert^  If  forcing  this  sweet  favour  from  your 
lips,  [Kisses  her. 

Fair  madam,  argue  me  of  too  much  boldness, 
When  you  are  pleased  to  understand  I  take 
A  parting  kiss,  if  not  excuse,  at  least 
Twill  qualify  the  offence. 

Cam.  A  parting  kiss,  sir ! 
What  nation,  envious  of  the  happiness 
'  Whidh  Sicily  enjoys  in  your  sweet  presence, 
Can  buy  you  from  her  ?  or  what  climate  yield 
Pleasures  transcending  those  which  you  enjoy 

herc^ 
Being  both  beloved  and  honour'd  ;  the  north-star 
And  guider  of  all  hearts  ;  and,  to  sum  up 
.Ypur  full.wcpmot  of  happinj8S{5  in  a  word, 
The  brother  of  tlie  king? 

Bert.  Do  you,  alone. 
And  with  an  iuuexampled  cruelty, 
Enfoi;c^  my  absence,  sod  deprive  mc  of 

^  I  must  nor  give  nor  take  i/.]  Tbis  mode  of  expression,  which 
*»i.Tfry:|r^ii€nt  (iB.Ma^uagor,  is  almost  us  freqneiUl j ^nged 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUE.  83 

Those  blesainggwhich  you,  with  a  polish'd  phrase. 

Seem  to  insinuate  that  I  do  possess, 

And  yet  tax  me  as  being  guilty  of 

My  wilful  exile  ?  What  are  titles  to  me, 

Or  popular  suffrage,  or  my  nearness  to 

The  king  in  blood,  or  fruitful  Sicily, 

Though  it  confessed  no  sovereign  but  myself, 

When  you,  that  are  the  essence  of  my  being, 

The  anchor  of  my  hopes,  the  real  substance 

Of  my  felicity,  in  your  disdain, 

Turn  all  to  fading  and  deceiving  shadows  ? 

Cam.  You  tax  me  without  cause. 

Bert.  You  must  confess  it. 
But  answer  love  with  love,  and  seal  the  contract 
In  the  uniting  of  our  souls,  how  gladly 
(Though  now  I  were  in  iiction,  *and  assured, 
Following  my  fortune,  that  plumed  Victory 
Would  make  her  glorious  stand  upon  my  tent) 
Would  I  put  off  my  armour,  in  my  heat  < 
Of  conquest,  and,  like  Antony,  pursue 
My  Cleopatra !    Will  you  yet  look  on  me, 
With  an  eye  of  favour  ? 

Cam.  Truth  bear  witness  for  me, , 
That,  in  the  judgment  of  my  soul,  you  are 
A  man  so  absolute,  and  circular. 
In  all  those  wish*d-for  rarities  that  may  take 
A  yirgin  captive,  that,  though  at  this  mstant 
All  scepter'd  monarchs  of  our  western  world 
Were  rivals  with  you,  and  Camiola  worthy 
Of  such  a  competition,  you  alone 
Should  wear  the  garland. 

Bert.  If  so,  what  diverts 
Your  favour  from  me  ? 

dam.  No  mulct  in  yourself. 
Or  in  your  person,  mind,  or  fortune. 

Bert.  What  then  ? 


24  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

« 

Cam.  The  consciousness  of  mine  dwn  wants : 
alas  !  sir, 
We  are  not  parallels;  but,  like  lines  divided/ 
Can  ne'er  meet  in  one  centre.    Your  birth,  sir, 


ala&  !  $ir. 


We  are  not  parallels ;  huty  like  linei  d^Wided, 
Can  nitr  meet. in  one  centre,]    This  seems  badlj  expressed. 
Parallels  are  the  only  lines  that  cannot  meet  in  a  centre ;  for  all 
lines  diTided  with  any  angle  towards  each  othef,  mast  meet 
somewhere,  if  continued  both  ways*    Coxeter. 

By  lines  divided,  Massinger  does  not  mean,  as  the  editor  snp^ 
poses,  lines  inclined  to  each  other  in  any  angle  i  but  the  divided 
parts  of  the  same  right  line,  which  never  can  meet  in  one  centre. 
M.  Mason. 

If  IVfr.  M.  Mason  unders*tands  his  own  meaning  it  is  well ; 
that  of  his  author,  1  apprehend,  he  has  not  altogether  made  out. 
Our  old  writers  were  not,  generally  speaking,  very  expert  ma- 
thematicians, and  therefore  frequently  confoundetl  the  proper- 
ties of  lines  and  figures.  Not  only  Massinger,  but  many  others 
who  had  good  means  of  information,  use  parallels  (as  it  seems 
to  me)  for  radiu  Dr.  Sacheverell  was  accused  by  the  wits,  or 
rather  whigs  of  his  day,  for  speaking,  in  his  famous  University 
Sermon^  of  parallel  lines  thai  met  in  a  centre.  The  charge  appears 
to  be  just,  for  though  he  changed  the  expression  when  the  ser- 
mon was  committed  to  the  press,  he  retained  his  convictioa  of 
its  propriety  :  "  They,"  (temptations,)  he  says,  "  are  the  centre 
in  which  all  our  passions  terminate  and  join,  though  never  so 
much  repugnant  to  each  other." 

In  the  Proeme  to  Herbert's  Travels,  which  were  printed  not 
long  after  the  Maid  of  Honour ,  a  similar  expression  is  found  : 
^^  Great  Britaine — containes  the  summe  and  abridge  of  all  sorts 
of  excellencies,  met  here  like  parallels  in  their  proper  centre.** 

In  the  tife  of  Dr.  H.  More  (1710)  there  is  a  letter  toa  cor. 
respondent  who  had  sent  him  a  pious  treatise,  in  which  the 
same  expression  occurs,  "and  is  thus  noticed  by  the  doctor: 
^^  There  is  but  one  passage  that  I  remember,  which  will  afford 
them  (the  profane  and  atheistical  rout  of  the  age)  a  disingenu- 
ous satisfaction  ;  which  is  in  p.  480,  where  you  say  that  straight 
lines  drawn  from  the  center  run  parallel  together.  To  a  candid 
reader  your  intended  sense  can  be  no  other  than  that  they  run 
«*»/  aXX^Aof ,  that  is,  by  one  another ;  which  they  may  do,  though 
they  do  not  run  fAi  along  e^aidistantly  on«  by  another^  which 


THE  MAID  OF  .HONOUR-.  26 

Without  addition,  were  an  ample  dowry 
For  one  oif  fairer  fortunes ;  and  this  shape. 
Were  you  ignoble,  far  above  all  value  : 
To  this  so  clear  a  mind,  so  furnish'd  with 
Harmonious  facultiea  moulded  from  heaven. 
That  though  you  wereThersites  in  your  features^ 
Of  no  descent,  and  If  us  in  your  fortunes, 
Ulyssestlike,  you'd  force  all  eyes  and  ears 
To  love,  but  seen ;  and,  when  heard,  wonder  at 
Your  matchless  story  :  but  all  these  bound  up 
Together  in  one  volume  ! — give  me  leave, 
With  admiration  to  look  upon  them ; 
But  not  presume,  in  my  own  flattering  hopes, 
I  may  or  can  enjoy  them.    . 

Bert.  How  you  ruin 
What  you.  would  seem  to  build  up  !  I  know  no 
Disparity  between  us ;'  you're  an  heir, 
Spruhg.from  a  noble  family  ;  fair,  rich,  young, 
And  every  way  my  equal. 

Cam^  Sir,  excuse  me ; 
One  aerie  with  proportion  ne*er  discloses 
The  eagle  and  tne  wren  ;* — tissue  and  frieze 

is  the  mathematical  sense  of  the  word  parallel."  'Gent.  Mag. 
May,  1782.  The  good  doctor  is,  I  think,  the  best  critic 
on  the  subject,  that  has  yet  appeared,  and  sufficiently  explains 
Massinger. 

*  Cam.  Sir^  excuse  tne  ; 

One  aerie  with  proportion  ne'er  discloses 

The  eagie  and  the  wren : — ]  The  modern  editors  read  One  airy 
with  proportion  Scc,  Upon  which  Coxeter  obsenres,  that  ^'  the 
passage  is  somewhat  difficult."  It  means,  howeyer,  he  adds, 
'^  that  one  who  is  puffed  up  with  an  high  opinion  of  his  birth, 
(i.  c.  airy  with  proportion^)  will  never  stoop  so  low  as  Bertoldo 
must,  to  marry  Camiola."  !  To  this  Mr.  M.  Mason  subjoins,  that 
for  discloses  we  should  4read  encloses^  and  that  the  meaning  is^ 
^^  the  airy  that  is  fit  for  an  eagle  cannot  be  equally  fit  for  a  wren !" 
Poor  Goxeter's  blunder  is  sufficiently  ridiculous  :  but  did  not 
Mr.  M.  Masony  who  tells  us,  in  a  note,  of  the  absolute  necessity 


26  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR- 

In  the  same  garment,  monstrous  !  But  suppose    ' 
That  what's  in  you  excessive  were  diminish'd. 
And  my  desert  supplied  ;  the  stronger  bar. 
Religion,  stops  our  entrance  :  you  are,  sir, 
A  knight  of  Malta,  by  your  order  bound 
To  a  single  life ;  you  cannot  marry  me  ; 
And;  I  assure  myself,  you  are  too  noble 
To  seek  me,  though  my  frailty  should  consent, 
In  a  base  path. 

Bert.  A  dispensation,  lady, 
Will  easily  absolve  me. 

Cam.  O  take  heed,  sir  ! 
When  what  is  vow*d  to  heaven  is  dispeiis'd  itith, 
To  serve  our  ends  on  earth,  a  curse  must  follow, 
And  not  a  blessing. 

Bert.  Is  there  no  hope  l6ft  me  ? 

Cam.  Nor  to  myself,  but  is  a  tieighbotir  to 
Impossibility.     True  love  should  walk 
On  equal  feet ;  in  us  it  does  not,  sir : 
But  rest  assured,  excepting  this,  I  shall  be 
Devoted  to  your  service. 

Bert.  And  this  is  your 
Determinate  sentence  ? 

Cam.  Not  to  be  revoked. 

Bert.  Farewell  then,  fairest  cruel  I  all  thoughti 
in  me 
Of  women  perish.     Let  the  glorious  light 

V 

of  consnlting  and  comparing  contemporary  antbors,  recollect 
those  beautifnl  lines  of  Sbakspeare  i 

^^  Anon^  as  patient  as  the  f<miale  doye 

^*  Ere  that  her  golden  couplets  are  duclostdy 

^^  His  silence  will  sit  drooping."  Hamlet. 

Disclose,  in  short,  is  constantly  used  by  our  old  writers  for  hatdtj 
as  aerie  is,  for  the  nest  of  any  bird  of  prey :  and  the  meaning  of 
this  ^*  somewhat  difficolf  passage"  nothing  more,  than  that  eagles 
and  wrens  are  tQO  disproportionate  in  bulk  to  be  hatched  in  th# 
tame  Mst. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR  37 

Of  noble  wiar  extinguish-  Love's  dim  .taptr/ 
That  only  kdds  me  light  to  see  my  folly: 
Honour,  be  thou  my  ever-living  mistress. 
And  fond  affection,  as  thy  bond-slave,  serve  thee! 

[Esit. 

Cam.  How  soon  my  sun  is  set,  he  being  absent. 
Never  to  rise  again  !  What  a  fierce  battle 
Is  fought  between  my  passions  !— me  thinks 
We  should  have  kiss*d  at  parting. 

SyL  I  perceive 
He  has  his  answer :  now  must  I  step  in 
To  comfort  her.  [comesjbrward.}  You  have  found, 

I  hope,  sweet  lady, 
Some  difference  between  a  youth  of  my  pitch, 
And  this  bugbear  Bertoldo  ;  men  are  men„ 
The  king's  brother  is  no  more ;  good  parts  will 

do  it, 
When  titlei^  faiL    Despair  not;  I  may  be 
In  time  entreated. 

Cam.  Be  so  now,  to  leave  mc.— 
Lights  for  my  chamber.     O  my  heart  1 

{Eseunt  Camiola  and  Clarindu. 

SyL  she  now, 
I  know,  is  going  to  bed,  to  ruminate 
Which  way  to  ^ut  herself  upon  my  person  : 


Let  the  glorious  light 


Of  noble  war  extinguish  Lovi^s  dim  tapar,]  So  the  quarto :  for 
if?hich  fine  line  the  modern  ecKtors  give  as, 

»  Let  the  glorious  light 

Of  noble  war  extinguish  Lo^s  dif  ine  taper  ! 

It  seems  strange  tfiat  no  want  of  harmony  In  the  metre,  no  de« 
feet  of  sense  in  the  expression,  could  ever  rouse  them  into  a 
suspicion  0f  their  inaccuracy.  I  hare  not,  howeTor,  pointed 
out  eyery  error  to  the  reader :  in  what  has  already  past  of  this 
act,  the  old  rtading  has  been  silently  restored  in  numerous 
instances.  . 


88  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

But,  for  my  oath's  sake,  I  will  keep  her  hungry ; 
And,  to  grow  full  myself,  I'll  straight — to  supper. 


ACT  II.    SCENE  I. 

The  same.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Roberto,  Fulgentio,  ^nrf  Astutio. 

Rob.  Embark'd  to  night,  do  you  say  ? 

FuL  I  saw  him  aboard,  sin 

Rob.  And  without  taking  of  his  leave? 

Ast.  Twas  strange ! 

Rob.  Are  we  grown  so  contemptible  ? 

FuL  Tisfar 
From  me,  sir,  to  add  fuel  to  your  anger, 
That,  in  your  ill  opinion  of  him,  burns 
Too  hot  already  ;  else,  I  should  affirm. 
It  was  a  gross  neglect 

Rob.  A  wilful  scorn 
Of  duty  and  allegiance ;  you  give  it 
Too  fair  a  name  :  but  we  shall  think  on't     Can 

you 
Guess  what  the  numbers  were,  that  followed  him 
In  his  desperate  action  ? 

FuL  More  than  you  think,  sir. 
All  ill-aflFected  spirits  in  Palermo, 
Or  to  your  government  or  person,  with 
The  turbulent  swordmen,  such  whose  poverty 

forced  them 
To  wish  a  change,  are  gone  along  with  him ; 
.Creatures  devoted  to  his  undertakings, 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


39 


In  right  or  wrong :  and,  to  express  their  ^eal , 
And  readiness  to  serve  him,  ere  they  went, 
Profanely  took  the  sacrament  on  their  knees. 
To  live  and  die  with  him. 

Rob.  O  most  impious ! 
Their  loyalty  to  us  forgot  ? 

Ful.  I  fear  so. 

jist.  Unthankful  as  they  are ! 

FuL  Yet  this  deserves  not 
One  troubled  thought  in  you,  sir ;   with  your 

pardon, 
I  hold  that  their  remove  from  lience  makes  more 
For  your  security  than  danger. 

Rob.  True; 
And,  as  I'll  fashion  it,  they  shall  feel  it  too. 
Astutio,  you  shall  presently  be  dispatch'd 
With  letters,  writ  and  sign'd  with  our  own  hand, 
To  the  dutcbess  of  Sienna,  in  excuse 
Of  these  forces  sent  against  her.     If  you  spare 
An  oath,  to  give  it  credit,*  that  we  never 
Consented  to  it,  swearing  for  the  king, 
Though  false,  it  is  no  perjury. 

Ast.  I  know  it. 
They. are  not  fit  to  be  state  agents,  sir, 
That,  without  scruple  of  their  conscience,  cannot 
Be  prodigal  in  sucn  trifles. 

Ful.  Right,  Astutio. 

Rob.  You  must,  beside,  from  us  take  some 
instructions, 


If  you  spare 


An  oath  to  give  it  credit^  Ac]  This  detestable  doctrine  it 
nnworthjT  of  the  king,  who  has  hitherto  conducted  himself  with 
propriety,  and  preserred  some  degree  of  interest  with  the 
reader.  Massinger,  however,  has  taken  sufficient  care  to  dis« 
close  his  own  ideas  of  snch  pernicious  tenets,  which,  I  hope, 
were  never  fashionable,  by  the  ridicule  which  h^  dexterously 
lings  orer  them  in  the  sulwequeni  speeches. 


50  THE  MAID  dF  HONOUR. 

To  be  imparted,  as  you  judge  them-  use^l, 
To  the  general  Oofiz^gte.     Inst&iiCly 
Prepare  you  fof  yott?r  journ^. 

Ast.  With  the  wings* 
Of  loyalty  and  duty,  -  [Arit 

FuL  I  am  bold 
To  put  your  majesty  in  mind— -*- 

Jttob.  Of  my  promise, 
And  aids,  to  further  you  in  your  amforeus  project 
To  the  fair  and  rich  Camiola  ?  there's  my  ring ; 
Whatever  you  shall  say  that  I  entres^t, 
Or  can  command  by  power,  I  will  make  good^. 

FuL  Ever  your  majesty's  creature. 

Rob.  Venus  prove 
Propitious  to  you  !  {Esrit. 

FuL  All  s6rts  to  my  wishes : 
Bertoldo  was  my  hindrance ;  he 'removed, 
I  now  will  court  her  in  the  ccnquel^or's*  style; 
**  Come,  see,  and  overcomfe."— Boy ! 

Enter  Page. 

Page.  Sir ;  your  pleasure  ? 

FuL  Haste  to  Camiola ;  bid  her  prepat e 
An  entertainment  suitable  to  a  fortune 
She  could  not  hope  for.    Tell  her^  I  vouehatofe^ 
To  honour  her  with  a  visit. 

Page.  Tis  a  favour 
Will  make  her  proud. 

FuL  I  know  it. 

Page.  I  am  ^one,  sin  [Exit. 

FuL  Entreaties  fit  not  nde ;  a  man  in  grace 
May  challenge  awe  and  privilege,  by  his  place. 

{Eont. 


THE  MAID  OP  HONOXTR.  51 

SCENE   II. 
The  same.    A  Roam  in  Camiola's  Hmae. 
Enter  Adorni,  Stlli,  and  GiARiN^yA. 

Ador.  So  melancholy^  say  you  I 

Clar.  Never  givctf 
To  such  retirement 

Ador.  Can  you  guess  the  cause  ? 

CUir.  If  it  hath  not  its  birth  and  being  from 
The  brave  Bertoldo's  absence^  I  confess 
Tis  past  my  apprehension. 

SyL  You  are  wide, 
The  whole  field  wide/    I,  in  my  understanding. 
Pity  your  ignorance ;  yet,  if  you  will 
Swear  to  conceal  it.     I  will  let  you  know 
Where  her  shoe  wrings  her. 

Clar.  I  vow,  signior, 
By  my  virginity. 

SyL  A  perilous  oath, 
In  a  waiting* woman  of  fifteen  !  and  is,  indeed, 
A  kind  of  nothing. 

Ador.  V\l  take  one  of  something, 
If  you  please  to  minister  it. 

Syl.  Nay,  you  shall  not  swear : 
I  had  rather  take  your  word ;  for,  should  you  Vow, 
D — n  me,  V\l  do  this  ! — ^you  are  sure  to  break* 

Ador.  I  thank  you,  signior ;  but  resolve  us. 

St/L  Know,  then, 

*  The  whole Jeld  wideJ]  This  herafistich  is  dropt  by  Mr.  M. 
Mason :  it  signifies  little  tfaat  the  measirre  of  two  lines  fd  spoiled 
hj  his  negligence,  fof,  as  he  modestlj'  saytf  of  &b  edition, 
*'  correctness  is  the  Only  meitt  it  pretends  t^.**  iThe  expression^ 
howeter  signiot  Sylli  pitoked  it  np,  is  a  Lfttiftisia :  Erras^  totd 
'Haaberras* 


32  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Here  walks  the  cause.    She  dares  not  look  upon 

me; 
My  beauties  are  so  terrible-and  enchanting, 
She  cannot  endure  my  sight. 

jidor.  There  I  believe  you. 

SyL  But  the  time  will  come,  be  comforted, when 
I  will 
Put  off  this  vizor  ofunkindness  to  her, 
And  shew  an  amorous  and  yielding  face : 
And,  until  then,  though  Hercules  himself 
Desire  to  see  her,  he  had  better  eat 
His  club,  than  pass  her  threshold  ;  for  I  will  be  - 
Her  Cerberus,  to  guard  her. 

Ador.  A  good  dog  ! 

Clar.  Worth  twenty  porters. 

Enter  Page. 

Page.  Keep  you  open  house  here  ? 
No  groom  to  attend  a  gentleman  !  O,  I  spy  one. 

J^L  He  means  not  me,  I  am  sure. 
^    Page.  You,  sirrah  sKeep's-head, 
With  a  face  cut  on  a  cat-stick,'  do  you  hear  ? 
You,  yeoman  fewterer,*  conduct  me  to 
The  lady  of  the  mansion,  or  my  poniard 
Shall  disembogue  thy  soul. 

Shfl.  O  terrible  !  disembogue  ! 
I  talk'd  of  Hercules,  and  here  is  one 
Bound  up  in  decimo  sea^to.* 

3  A  cat-stick,]  This,  I  believe,  is  what  is  now  called  a 
huck-^tickj  usqdby  children  in  the  game  of  tip-cat,  or  kit-cat. 

♦  Youy  yeoman  fewterer^]  See  the  Picture, 

* I  talked  of  Hercules,  and  here  is  one 

Bound  up  in  decimo  sexto.]  We  have  already  had  this  ex- 
pression applied  to  a  page.  Vol.  I.  p.  176.  Indeed,  no  author, 
with  whom  I  urn  acquainted,  repeats  himself  so  frequently,  and 
with  so  little  ceremony,  as  Massinger. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  S3 

Page.  Answer,  wretch.  ^ 

SyL  Pray  you,  little  gentleman,  be  not  so 
furious : 
The  lady  keeps  her  chamber. 

Page.  And  we  present, 
Sent  in  an  embassy  to  her !  but  herfe  is 
Her  gentlewoman.    Sirrah !  hold  mf  cloak. 
While  I  take  a  leap  at  her  lips  :  do  it,  and  neatly  ; 
Or,  having  first  tripp'd  up  thy  heels,  TU  make 
Thy  back  my  footstool.  [Kisses  Clarinda. 

Syl.  Tamberlane  in  little  ! 
Am  I  turn'd  Turk!*  What  an  office  am  I  put  to  ! 

Clar.  My  lady,  gentle  youth,  is  indisposed. 

Page.  Though  she  were  dead  and  buried,  only 
tell  her, 
The  great  man  in  the  court,  the  brave  Fulgentio, 
Descends  to  visit  her,  and  it  will  raise  her 
Out  of  the  grave  for  joy. 

Enter  Fulgentio. 

Syl.  Here  comes  another ! 
The  devil,  I  fear,  in  his  holiday  clothes. 

Pnge.  So  soon ! 
My  part  is  at  an  end  then.    Cover  my  shoulders  j 
When  I  grow  great,  thou  shalt  serve  me. 

Ful.  Are  you,  sirrah, 
An  implement  of  the  house?  .  [7b  Sylli. 

^  Am  I  turn'd  Turk !]  Alluding  perhaps  to  the  story  of  Tam- 
berlane, who  is  said  to  hare  mounted  his  horse  from  the  back 
of  Bajazet,  the  Turkish  emperor.  Bat  to  turn  Turk^  in  oar  old 
dramatists,  is  generally  UB«d  for  a  change  of  situation,  occapa- 
tion,  mode  of  thought  or  action.  Thus  Will  Rush,  in  Green's 
Tu  Qitoque :  ^'  'Sfoot,  she  plajs  the  terrible  tyrannizing  Tarn, 
beriain  oyer  him.  This  it  is  to  turn  Turk;  from  a  most  abso* 
lute,  compleat  gentleman,  to  a  most  absurd,  ridicnlous  and  fond 
lover."  See  rol.  ii.  p.  ^2S,  Tamberlane  was  a  proverbial  term 
for  a  bully,  a  swaggerer.    " 


84  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUE. 

Syl.  Sure  he  will  mak^ 
A  jointstool  of  me ! 

Ful.  Or,  if  you  belong  "  \To  Ador. 

To  the  lady  of  the  place,  command  her  hither. 

Ador.  I  do  not  wear  her  livery,  yet  acknow- 
ledge 
A  duty  to  her ;  and  as  little  bound 
To  serve  your  peremptory  wiil,  as  she  is 
To  obey  your  summons.    Twill  become  you,  sir. 
To  wait  her  leisure  ;  then,  her  pleasure  known, 
You  may  present  your  duty. 

Ful  Duty!  Slave, 
I'll  teach  you  manners. 

Ador.  I'm  past  learning ;  make  not 
A  tumult  in  the  house. 

FuL  Shall  I  be  braved  thus  ?  \Tliey  draw. 

Sh/L  O,  I  am  dead  !  and  now  I  swoon. 

[Falls  on  his  face. 

Clar.  Help  !  murder  ! 

Page.  Recover,  sirrah  ;  the  lady's  here. 

Enter  Camiola. 

Syl.  Nay,  then 
I  am  alive  again,  and  I'll  be  valiant.  [Rises. 

Cam.  What  insolence  is  this  ?  Adomi,  hold, 
Hold,  I  command  you. 

Ful.  Saucy  groom ! 

Cam.  Not  so,  sir ; 
flowever,  in  his  life,  he  had  dependence 
Upon  my  father,  he's  a  gentleman. 
As  well  bom  as  yourself/    Put  on  your  hat. 


Ht^s  a  gentleman 


Astodl  bom  as  ^outi^self,]  This  is  the  second  passage,  in  the 
compass  of  little  more  tbi^a  apiige,  which  is  wholly  omitted  bj 
Mr.  M.  Mason ! 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  S6 

FuL  In  my  preseno^^  withcmt  Uaye  I  ^ 

Syl.  He  has  mine,  madam. 

^am.  And  t  must  tell  you,  sir,  and  in  plain 
language, 
Howe'er  your  glittering  outside  promise  gentry, 
The  rudeness  of  your  carriage  and  behaviour 
Speaks  you  a  coarser  thing. 

Syl.  She  means  a  clown,  sir ; 
I  am  her  interpreter,  for  want  of  a  better. 

Cam.  I  am  a  queen  in  mine  own  house ;  nor 
must  you 
Expect  an  empire  here. 

i^l.  Sure,  I  must  love  her 
Bei^re  the  day,  the  pretty  soul's  so  valiant. 

Cam.  What  are  you  ?  and  what  would  you  with 
me? 

FuL  Proud  one. 
When  you  know  what  I  am,  and  what  I  came  for» 
And  may,  on  your  submission,  proceed  to, 
You,  in  your  reason,  must  repent  the  coarseness 
Of  my  entertainment. 

Cam.  Why,  fine  man  ?  what  are  you  ? 

FuL  A  kinsman  of  the  king's. 

Cam.  I  cry  you  mercy. 
For  his  sake,  not  your  own.  But,  grant  you  are  so, 
Tis  not  impossible  but  a  king  may  have 
A  fool  ito  ;his  kinsman,~'no  way  meaning  you,  jsir. 

FuL  Yqu  have  .h^rd  of  Fulgentio  ? 

Cam.  iLoQg  since,  .sir.; 
A  suit-broker  in  court    He  has  the  worst 
Beport  among  good  men  I^ver  heard  of, 
Forrbaribery.andicxtortion.:  in  their  prayers, 
Widows  and  orphans  cur&e  him  for  a  canker 
And  caterpillar  in  the  state.    I  hope,  sir. 
You  are  not  the  man  ;  much  less  employed  by  him, 
^  a.^qiock-agent  to  pie. 

Fitl.  Jireplynat 


36  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

As  you  deserve,  being  assured  you  know  me ; 

Pretending  ignorance  of  my  person,  only 

To  give  me  a  taste  of  your  wit:  'tis  well,  and 

•     courtly; 
I  like  a  sharp  wit  well. 

SjfL  I  cannot  endure  it ; 
Nor  any  of  the  Syllis. 

FuL  More  ;  I  know  too, 
This  harsh  induction  must  serve  as  a  foil 
To  the  well-tuned  observance  and  respect 
You  will  hereafter  pay  me,  being  made 
Familiar  with  my  credit  with  the  king, 
And  that  (contain  your  joy)  I  deign  to  love  you. 

Cam.  Love  me  !  I  am  not  rapt  with  it. 

FuL  Hear't  again  ; 
I  love  you  honestly  :  now  you  admire  me. 

Cam.  I  do,  indeed  ;  it  being  a  ^vord  so  seldom 
Heard  from  a  courtier's  mouth.     But,  pray  you, 

deal  plainly, 
Since  you  find  me  idmple  ;  what  might  be  the 

motives 
Inducing  you  to  leave  the  freedom  of 
A  bachelor's  life,  on  your  soft  neck  Jo  wear 
The  stubborn  yoke  of  marriage ;  and,  of  all 
The  beauties  in  Palermo,  to  choose  me. 
Poor  me  ?  that  is  the  main  point  you  must  treat  of. 

Fuh  Why,  I  will  tell  you.    Of  a  little  thing 
You  are  a  pretty  peat,*  indifferent  fair  too  ;   . 
And,  like  a  new-rigg'd  ship,  both  tight  and  yare. 
Well  truss'd  to  bear :  virgms  of  giant  size 
Are  sluggards  at  the  sport;  but,  for  my  pleasure. 
Give  me  a  neat  well-timber'd  gamester  like  you ; 
Such  need  no  spurs, — the  quickness  of  your  eye 
Assures  an  active  spirit. 

'  You  are  a  pretty  peat,]    For  peat  the  modern  editors  are 
pleased  to  gife  vl%  piece.    Surely  peat  is  mificiently  intelligible. 


TH£  MAID  OP  ftOl^OUR. 


S7 


Cam.  You  are  pleasant,  sir ; 
Yet  I  presume  that  there  was  one  thing  in  me, 
Unmention'd  yet,  that  took  you  more  than  all 
Those  parts  you  have  remembcr*d. 

Ful.  What? 

Cam.  My  wealth,  sir. 

Ful.  You  ar*  in  the  right;  without  that,  beauty 
•   is 
A  flower  worn  in  the  morning,  at  night  trod  on : 
But  beauty,  youth,  and  fortiune  meeting  in  you, 
I  will  vouchsafe  to  marry  you. 

Cam.  You  speak  well ; 
And,  in  return,  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I 
Deliver  reasons  why,  upon  no  teriiis, 
Fll  marry  you :  I  fable  not. 

Syl.  I  am  glad 
To  hear  this  ;  I  began  to  have  an  ague. 

Ful.  Come,  your  wise  reasons^ 

Cam.  Such  as  they  are,  pray  you  take  them : 
First,  I  am  doubtful  whether  you  are  a  man. 
Since,  for  ycnv  shape,  trimm'd  up  in  a  lady*8 

dressing, 
You  might  pass  for  a  woman;  now  1  love 
To  deal  on  certainties :  and^  for  the  fairness 
Of  your  complexion,  which  you  think  will  take 

me. 
The  colour,  I  must  tell  you,  in  a  man. 
Is  weak  and  faint,  and  never  will  hold  out, 
If  put  to  labour :  give  me  the  lovely  "brown, 
A  thick  curFd  hair  of  the  same  die,  broad  shoul- 
ders, 
A  brawny  arm  full  of  veins,  a  leg  without 
An  arti6cial  calf; — I  suspect  yours  ; 
But  let  that  pass. 

SyU  She  means  me  all  this  while, 
For  I  have  every  one  of  those  good  parti ; 
O  Sylli !  fortunate  Sylli ! 

VOL*  III*  *  E 


\ 


38  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Cam.  You  are  moved,  sir. 
FuL  Fie  !  no ;  go  on. 
Cam.  Then,  as  you  are  a  eourtier, 
A  graced  one  too,  I  fear  you  have  been  too  for- 
ward ;  . 
And  so  much  for  your  person.     Rich  you  are, 
Devilish  rich,  as  'tis  reported,  and  sure  have 
The  aids  of  Satan's  little  fiends  to  get  it ; 
And  what  is  got  upon  his  back,  must  be 
Spent,  you  know  where ; — the  proverb's  stale — 

One  word  more, 
And  I  have  done. 

FuL  I'll  ease  you  of  the  trouble. 
Coy  and  disdainful ! 

Cam.  Save  me,  or  else  he'll  beat  me.. 
FuL  No,  your  own  folly  shall ;  and,  since  you 
put  me 
To  my  last  charm,  look  upon  this,  and  tremble. 

[Shews  the  king's  ring. 
Cam.  At  the  sight  of  a  fair  ring  !  the  king's,  I 
take  it  ? 
Iliave  seen  him  wear  the  like :  if  he  hath  sent  it, 

As  a  favour,  to  me 

FuL  Yes,  'tis  very  likely. 
His  dying  mother's  gift,  prized  at  his  crown  ! 
By  this  he  does  commano  you  to  be  mine ; 
By  his  gift  you  are  so : — you  may  yet  redeem  all. 
Cam.  You  are  in  a  wrong  account  still.  Though 
the  king  may 
Dispose  of  my  life  and  goods,  my  mind's  mine 

.  own. 
And  never  shall  be  yourV.    The  king,  heaven 

bless  him ! 
Is  good  and  gracious,  and,  being  in  himself 
Abstemious  from  base  and  goatish  looseness, 
Will  not  compel,  against  their  wills,  chaste  mai- 
dens 


1 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  99 

To  dance  in  his  minion's  circles.     I  believe, 
Forgetting  it  when  he  wash'd  his   hands,  you 

stole  it, 
With  an  intent  to  awe  me.    But  you  are  cozen'd  ; 
I  am  still  myself,  and  will  be. 

FuL  A  proud  haggard,  ^ 

And  not  to  be  reclaimed, !  which  of  your  grooms, 
Your  coachman,  fool,  or  foptman,  ministers 
Night- physic  to  you  ? 

Cam.  You  are  foul-mouth'd. 

FuL  Much  .fairer 
Than  thy  black  soill ;  and  so  I  will  proclaim  thee. 

Cam.  Were  I  a  man,  thou  durst  not  speak  this. 

FuL  Heaven 
So  prosper  me,  as  I  resolve  to  do  it 
To  all  men,  and  in  eveij  place :  scofn'd  by 
A  tit  of  ten-pence  !     [JExeunt  Fulgent io  and  Page. 

SyL  Now  I  begin  to  be  valiant : 
Nay,  I  will  draw  my  sword.    O  for  a  brother  I* 

9  ■  Ofor  a  butcher 

Do  afrientTs  part^  &c.l  This  is  a  true  picture  of  a  fop.  No- 
thing could  be  more  abjectly  fearful  than  this  our  bravado, 
when  in  danger  :  but,  now  his  enemy  is  gone,  he  swaggers  about 
most  courageously.  Now  I  begin  to  be  valiant:,  nay^  1  will  draw 
my  sword.    Ofor  a  butcher !  The  bloody  cruel  temper  of  one. 

CoXFTEB. 

Ofor  a  butcher !]   It  is  impossible  that  the  words  should  con- 
vey the  tense  that  the  editor  attributes  to  them.    It  is  a  difficult^ 
passage,  and  my  conjecture  may  possibly  be  erroneous,  but  I 
i^ould  read  it  thus : 

JSay^  I  will  draw  mp  sword :  0  for  a  bout !  Herty 
Do  afriend^sparty  he*  M.  Mason. 

Sylli  is  no  fop,  but  a  fool :  one  of  tht>se  characters  which 
the  audiences  of  Massinger's  time  looked  for  in  every  piece  that 
came  before  them.  By  fool,  I  do  not  mean  such  as  are  found 
in  Shakspeare,  compounds  of  archness,  knavery,  petulance,  and 
licentiousness,  infinitely  diversified,  (for  to  the  production  of 
fuch,  our  poet  was  not  equal,)  but  a  harmless  simpleton,  whose 
vanity  is  too  puerile,  and  cowardice  too  abject,  to  excite  in  our 

*E2 


40 


THE  MAID  OF  BONOUK 


Do  a,  friend's  part ;  pray  you,  carry  him  the  length 

oft. 
I  give  him  three  years  and  a  day  to  match  my 

Toledo, 
And  then  we'll  fight  like  dragons* 
Ador.  Pray,  have  patience. 
Cam.  I  may  live  to  have  vengeance:  roy  B€r«- 
tol4o 
Would  not  have  heard  this. 
Ador.  Madam, — '• — 
Cam.  Pray  you,  spare 
Your  language.     Prithee  fool,   and   make  mc 
merry.*  -  [To  Sylli. 

Syl.  That  is  my  office  ever. 
Ador.  I  must  do, 
Not  talk ;  this  glorious  gallant  shalLhear  from  me. 

{Exeunt^, 

tiifies'  much  either  o!  interest  or  mirth  :  —  for  the  rest,  Nothing 
can  be  more  contemptible  than  the  jargon  of  Coxeter  on  his  own 
erroneous  readings  I  have  consulted  all  the  copies  to  which  I 
had  access,  atid  they  concur  in  reading,  O  for  a  brother  !  (with 
the  single  exception,  indeed,  of  Mr.  Malone's,.  which,  reads 
butcher^  i.  e.  a  brother  in  arms^  (I  suppose  to  do  what,  he  imme« 
diately  after  requests  Adorni  to  do  for  him,)  a  common  cxpres** 
sion  at  the  time,  and  well  understood  by  Massinger's  audience. 
The  graye  remark  of  Mr.  M.  Mason  on  the  spurious  reading  of 
Coxeter  is  truly  ridiculous.  Why  did  he  not  examine  the  old 
copies?  '  , 

*     Cam.  Fray  you^  spare 

Yaur  la?iguag€.  Prithee  fpol,  and  make  me  merry. 1  i.  c.  play  th«b 

fool.  An  explanation  that  would  ha?e  been  wholly  unnecessary, 

if  the  nu>dem  editors  had  n,ot  mistaken  the  sense,  and  therefore 

altered  the  passage.  They  read,  in  despite  of  the  metre,  - 

Fray  youj  spare 

Your  language.    Fritheepfooly  make  me  merr^  > 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOfOTL 


41 


(• 


SCENE   III. 

N 

The  Siennesc/  A  Camp  before  the  Walls  ^Sienna* 

Chambers  shot  off:  a  Flourish  as  to  an  Assault  > 
flf/fera;AicA,ewferGoNZAGA,PiERio,RoDERioo, 
i ACQ'hiLOy  and  Soldiers. 

Gonz.  Is  the  breach  made  assaultable? 

Pier.  Yes,  and  the  moat 
Fiird  up;  the  cannoneer  hath  done  his  parts; 
We  may  enter  six  abreast* 

Rod.  There's  not  a  man 
Dares  shew  himself  upon  the  wall. 

Jac,  Defeat  not 
The  soldiers'  hoped-for  spoiL 

Pier.  If  you,  sir. 
Delay  the  assault,  and  the  city  be  given  up 
To  your  discretion,  you  in  honour  cannot 
Use  the  extremity  of  war, — but,  in 
Compassion  to  them,  you  to  us  prove  cruel. 

Jac.  And  an  enemy  to  yourself. 

Rod*  A  hindrance  to 
The  brave  revenge  you  have  vow'd. 

Gonz.  Temper  your  heat. 
And  lose  not,  by  too  sudden  rashness,  that 


•J 


^  The  Siennete.  kc\  Here,  as  in  the  Duke  of  MUan^  Coiseter 
attempted  to  particvlarize  the  place  of  action,  bat  with  as  littla 
soccess  as  before.  See  Vol.  L  p.  237.  He  reads,  The  Cattle  at 
Sienna:  this,  howeTer,<was  in  the  hands  of  the  duke  of  Urbin ; 
while  Gonzaga  and  his  armj  are  described  as  lying  encamped 
before  the  walls  of  the  town ;  which  they  are  now  preparing  to 
aisaalt  The  castle  of  Sienna,  if  castie  it  most  be,  should  be 
placed  at  the  head  of  the  next  scene.  Mr.  M.  Mason  copies  all 
these  absarditieSf  as  asoal. 


'  I 


4i  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Which,  be  but  patient,  will  be  ofFer'd  to  you. 

Security  ushers  ruiri ;  proud  contempt 

Of  an  enemy  three  parts  vanquished,  with  desire 

And  greediness  of  spoil,  have  often  wrested 

A  certain  victory  from  the  conqueror's  gripe. 

Discretion  is  the  tutor  of  the  war, 

Valour  the  pupil ;  and,  when  we  command 

With  lenity,  and  our  direction's  foUow'd 

With  cheerfulness,  a  prosperous  end  must  crown 

Our  works  well  undertaken. 

Rod,  Ours  are  finish'd — — 

Pier.  If  we  make  use  of  fortune. 

Gonz.  Her  false  smiles 
Deprive  you  of  your  judgments.    The  condition 
Of  our  affairs  exacts  a  double  care, 
And,  like  bifronted  Janus,  we  must  look 
Backward,  as  forward  :  though  a  flattering  calm 
Bids  us  urge  on,  a  sudden  tempest  raised. 
Not  feared,  muph  less  expected,  in  our  rear, 
May  foully  fall  upon  us,  and  distract  us 
To  our  confusion. — 

Enter  a  Scout,  hastily. 

Our  scout !  what  brings 
Thy  ghastly  looks,  and  sudden  speed  ? 

Scout.  The  assurance 
Of  a  new  enemy. 

Gonz.  This  I  foresaw  and  fear'd. 
What  are  they,  knovv'st  thou  ? 

Scout.  They  are,  by  their  colours, 
Sicilians,  bravely  mounted,  and  the  brightness 
Of  their  rich  armours  doubly  gilded  with 
Reflection  of  the  sun. 

Gonz.  From  Sicily  ?— —  ^ 
The  king  in  league !  no  war  proclaimed  !  'tis  foul: 
But  this  must  be  prevented,  not  disputed. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  43 

Ha!  how  is  this?  your  estridge' plumes,  that  but 
Even  now,  like  quills  of  porcupines,  seem'd  to 

threaten  * 

The  stars,  drop  at  the  rumour  of  a  shower. 
And,  like  to  captive  colours,  sweep  the  earth  ! 
Bear  up;  but  in  great  dangers,  greater  minds 
Are  never  proud.  Shall  a  few  loose  troops,  untrained 
But  in  a  customary  ostentation, 
Presented  as  a  sacrifice  to  your  valolirs, 
Cause  a  dejection  in  you  ? 

Pier.  No  dejection. 

Rod.  However  startled,  where  you  lead  we'll 

follow.  . 

Gonz.  'Tis  bravely  said.  We  will  not  stay  their 

charge, 
But  meet  them  man  to  man,  and  horse  to  horse. 
Pierio,  in  our  absence  hold  our  place. 
And  with  our  foot  men,  and  those  sickly  troops, 
Prevent  a  sally  :  I  in  mine  own  perspn, 
With  part  of  the  cavallery,*  will  bid 
These  hunters  welcome  to  a  bloody  breakfast : — 
But  I  lose  time.  ^ 

Pier.  I'll  to  my  charge.  [Esit. 

Gonz.  And  we 
To  ours :  111  bring  you  on, 

Jac.  If  we  come  off. 
It's  not  amiss ;  if  not,  my  state  is  settled. 

[JEo'eunt.     Alarum  within. 

« 

s  ■  your  estridge  plumes^  &c.]  For 

estridge  the  modern  editions  read  estrkh  .—but  this  is  not  the 
onjj  capricious  alteration  which  they  have  introduced  into  this 
beautiful  speech. 

*  With  part  of  the  cavallery,]  So  it  must  be  spelt,  and  so  the 
quarto  spells  it :  the  modern  editiofis  have  cavalry^  which  is  not 
metre,  nor  any  thing  like  metre.  The  old  expression  is  neither 
incorrect,  nor  uncommonj  as  might  easily  be  shewn,  if  it  were 
at  ail  necessary. 


■U  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


SCENE   IV. 

The  same.    The  Citadel  o/*  Sienna. 

lEnter  Ferdinand,  Druso,  and  Livio,  on  the 

Walls. 

Fer.  No  aids  from  Sicily  !  Hath  hope  forsook 
us; 
And  that  vain  comfort  to  af8i(!;tiony  pity> 
By  our  vow*d  friend  denied  us  ?  w^  can  nor  live 
]^or  die  with  honour  :  like  beasts  in  a  toil, 
We  wait  the  leisure  of  the  bloody  hunter, 
Who  i^  not  80  far  reconciled  unto  us, 
As  in  one  death  to  give  a  period 
To  our  calamities ;  but  in  delaying, 
The  fate  we  cannot  fly  from,  starv'd  with  wants. 
We  die  this  night,  to  live  again  to  morrow. 
And  suffer  greater  torments. 

Dru.  There  is  not 
Three  days  provision  for  every  soldier, 
At  an  ounce  of  bread  a  day,  left  in  the  city. 

Liv.  To  die  the  beggar's  death,  with  hunger 
made 
Anatomies  while  we  live,  cannnot  but  crack 
Our  heart-strings  with  vexation. 
'  Fer.  Would  they  would  break, 
Break  altoge.ther !  How  willingly,  like'Cato, 
Could  I  tear  out  my  bowels,  rather  than 
Look  on  the  conqueror's  insulting  face; 
But  that  religion,*  and  the  horrid  dream 
To  be  suffered  in  the  other  world,  denies  it ! 

'  But  that  religion  &c.]    Massinger  had  Ramlet  in  view  here. 
He  has,  howeyer,  improved  his  sentiments.    It  is  pleasing  to 


.Ti^E  )AAm  OF  HONOUR 


99 


Enter  a  Soldier. 

What  news  with  thee  ? 

Sold.  From  the  turret  of  the  fort, 
By  the  rising  clouds  of  dust,  through  which,  like 

lightning, 
The  splendour  of  bright  arms  sometimes  brake^ 

through, 
I  did  descry  some  forces  making  towards  us ; 
And,  from  the  camp,  as  emulous  of  their  glory, 
The  general,  (for  I  know  him  by  his  horse,)    . 
And  bravely  seconded,  eiicounter'd  them. 
Their  greeting!^  were  too  rough  for  friends ;  thcif 

swords. 
And  not  their  tongues,  exchanging  courtesies. 
By  this  the  main  battalias  are  join'd ; 
And,  if  you  please  to  be  spectators  of 
The  horrid  issue,  I  will  bring  you  where, 
As  in  a  theatre,  you  may  see  their  fates 
In  purple  gore  presented. 

FeTi  Heaven,  if  yet 
Thou  art  appeased  for  my  wrong  done  to  Aurelia, 
Take  pity  of  my  miseries  !  Lead  the  way,  friend. 

[Ea^eunt 

observe^  amidst  the  coUvTies  of  the  times,  how  (tee  the  stream  of 
tis  peetiy  run^  from  ever j  taint  of  profaneness. 

^  The  splendour  of  bright  arms  sometimes  brake  through^  3o.t1| 
Coxeter  and  Mr*  M.  Mason  corrupt  brake  into  break^  though  it 
be  arrant  nonsense. 


*iS  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


SCENE   v.. 
The  same.    A  Plain  near  the-Gofnp. 

A  long  Charge:  after  whichy  a  Flourish  for  victory  ; 
then  enter  Gonzaga,  Jacomo,  ^z;ta  Roderigo 
wounded;  Bertoldo,  Gasparo,  j^^  Antonio 
Prisoners.  Officers  and  Soldiers. 

Gonz.  We  have  them  yet,  though  they  cost  us 

dear.    This  was 
Charged   home,  and   bravely   followed.     Be  to. 

yoursel  ves  [7b  Jacomo  and  Roderigo. 

True  mirrors  to  each  other's  worth ;  aud,  looking 
With  noble  emulation  on  his  wounds, 

[Points  to  Bert. 
The  glorious  livery  of  triumphant  war, 
Imagine  these  with  equal  grace  appear 
Upon  yourselves.    The  bloody  sweat  you  have 

suffered 
In  this  laborious,  nay,  toilsome  harvest. 
Yields  a  rich  crop  of  conquest ;  and  the  spoils 
Most  precious  baisam  to  a  soldier's  hurts, 
Will  ease  and  cure  them.  Let  me  look  upon 

[Gasparo  and  Antonio  are  brought  forward. 
The  prisoners'  faces.  Oh,  how  much  transform'd 
From  what  they  were  !  O  Mars !  were  these  toys 

fash  ion 'd  . 

To  undergo  the  burthen  of  thy  service  ? 
The  weight  of  their  defensive  armour  bruised 
Their  weak  effeminate  limbs,  anxl  would  have 

forced  them. 
In  a  hot  day,  without  a  blow  to  yield. 

Ant.  This  insultation  shews  not  manly  in  you. 
Gonz.  To  men  I  had  forborn  it ;  you  are  women. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  47 

Or,  at  the  best,  Toose  carpet-knights.*  What  fury 
Seduced  you  to  exchange  your  ease  in  court, 
For  labour  in  the  field  ?  perhaps,  you  thought 
To  charge,  through  dust  and  blood,  an  armed  foe. 
Was  but  like  graceful  running  at  the  ring 
For  a  wanton  mistress*  glove  ;  and  the  encounter, 
A  soft  impression  on  her  lips : — but  you 
Are  gaudy  butterflies,  and  I  wrong  myself 
In  parling  with  you. 

Gasp.  Vee  metis  !  now  we'  prove  it. 

Rod.  But  here's  one  fashion'd  inanothermould, 
And  made  of  tougher  metal. 


you  are  women^ 


Or^  at  the  besty  loose  carpet-knights.]  Carpet-knights,  a  term  of 
contempt  very  frequently  used  by. oar  old  writers,  were  such  as 
were  madcf  on  occasion  of  publick  festiyities^  marriages,  births, 
&c.  in  contradistiuction  to  those  that  were  created  on  the  field 
of  battle,  after  a  victory.  They  were  naturally  little  regarded  by 
the  latter  ;  and,  indeed,  their  title  had  long  been  given,  as  here, 
in  scorn,  to  effeminate  courtiers,  fa? ourites,  &c.  To  confine,  as 
some  do,  the  expression  to  the  knights  made  by  James  I.  is  evi* 
dently  erroneous ;  since  it  was  in  use,  and  in  the  opprobrious 
sense  of  the  text,  before  he  was  born.     I  hope  it  will  not  be 
thought  that  I  have  loaded  the  page  with  superfluous  quotations, 
which  it  has  been  my  chief  study  to  avoid  :— there  is,  however, 
so  beautiful  a  passage  in  Fletcher's  Fair  Maid  oj  the  Inn^  that, 
as  it  is  not  altogether  irrelevant  to  the  subject,  I  cannot  resist 
the  pleasure  of  transcribing  it : 
^<  Oh  the  brave  damts 
^^  Of  ivarlike  Genoa !  they  had  eyes  to  see 
(<  The  inward  man ;  and  only  from  his  worth, 
^^  Courage  and  conquests^  the  blind  archer  knew 
'^  To  head  his  shafts,  or  light  his  quenched  torch  ; 
^'  They  were  proof  against  him  else !  No  carpet-knight^ 
<^  That  spent  his  youth  in  groves  or  pleasant  bowers, 
^^  Or  stretching  on  a  couch  his  lazy  limbs, 
'*  Sung  to  his  lute  such  soft  and  pleasing  notes 
'^  As  Ovid  nor  Anacreon  ever  k/iew. 
**  Could  work  on  them,  nor  once  bewitched  their  sense, 
*^  Though  he  came  so  perfumed,  as  he  had  robb'd 
^^  Sabea  or  Arabia  of  their  wealth, 
<^  And  stored  it  in  one  sifit." 


♦« 


THjE  MAID  OF  HONOUR: 


Gonz.  True ;  I  awe  him 
For  this  wouiul  bravely  given. 

JSert.  O  that  mountains 
*^ere  beap'd  upon  me,  that  I  might  expirey 
A  wretch  no  more  remembered !  [Aside, 

Gonz.  Look  up,  sir ; 
To  be  o'ercome  deserves  no  shame.  If  you 
Had  fallen  ingloriously,  or  could  accuse 
Your  want  of  courage  in  resistance,  'twere 
To  be  lamented :  but,  since  you  perform'd 
As  much  as  could  be  hoped  for  from  a  man, 
(Fortune  his  enemy,)  you  wrong  yourself 
In  this  dejection.  I  am  honoured  in 
My  victory  over  you ;  but  to  have  these 
My  prisoners,  is,  in  my  true  judgment,  rather 
Captivity  than  a  triumph :  you  shall  find 
Fair  quarter  from  me,  and  your  pfiany  wounds, 
Which  I  hope  are  not  mortal,  with  such  care 
Look'd  to  and  cured,  as  if  your  nearest  friend 
Attended  on  you* 

Bert.  When  you  know  me  better, 
You  will  make  void  this  promise:  can  you  call  me 
Into  your  memory  ? 

Gonx.  The  bravo  Bertoldo ! 
A  brother  of  our  order.!  By  St.  John, 
Our  holy  patron,  I  am  more  amazed, 
Nay,  thunderstuck  with  thy  apostacyi 
And  precipice  from  the  most  solemn  vows 
Made    u^to  heaven,    when    this,   the  glorious 

badge 
Of  our  Redeemer,  was  conferred  upon  thee 
By  the  great  master,  than  if  I  had  seen 
A  reprobate  Jew,  an  atheist,  Turk,  or  Tartar, 
Baptized  in  our  religion  ! 

Bert  This  I  lookM  for  ;  ■    \ 

And  am  resolv'd  to  suffer 

Gonz.  Fellow-soldiers, 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR;  49 

Behoid  this  man,  and,  taught  by  his  example. 
Know  that  'tis  safer  far  to  play  with  lightning, 
Than  trifle  in  things  sacred,  (n  my  rage  [fFeeps. 
I  shed  these  at  the  funeral  of  his  virtue, 
Faith,  and  religion: — why,  I  will  tell  you; 
He  was  a  gentleman  so  train'd  up  and  fashion'd 
For  noble  uses,  and  his  youth  did  promise 
Such    certainties,   more   than    hopes,   of  gr^at 

achievements, 
As-**-if  the  Christian  world  had  stood  opposed 
Against  the  Othoman  race,  to  try  the  fortune 
Of  one  encounter, — (his  Bertoldo  had  been, 
For  his  knowledge  to  direct,  and  matchless  cou- 
rage 
To  execute,  without  a  rival,  by 
The  votes  of  good  men,  chosen  general ; 
As  the  prime  soldier,  and  most  deserving 
Of  all  that  wear  the  cross :  which  now,  in  justicCjl 
I  thus  tear  from  him. 

Bert  Let  me  die  with  it 
Upon  my  breast. 

Gonz.  No';  by  this  thou  wert  sworn, 
.  On  all  occasions,  as  a  knight,  to  guard 
Weak  ladies  from  oppression,  and  never 
To  draw  thy  sword  against  them  ;.  whereas  thou/ 
In  hope  of  gain  or  glory,  when  a  princess. 
And  such  a  princess  as  Aurelia  is. 
Was  dispossess'd  by  violence,  of  what  was 
Her  true  inheritance ;  against  thine  oath 
Hast,  to  thy  uttermost,  labour'd  to  uphold 
Het  falling  enemy.  But  thou  shalt  pay    < 
A  heavy  forfeiture,  and  learn  too  late. 
Valour  employed  in  an  ill  quarrel,  turns 
To  cowardice,  and  Virtue  then  puts  on 
Foul  Vice's  visor.  This  is  that  which  cancels 
All  friendship's  bands  between  us. — Bear  them  off ; 
J  will  hear  no  reply :  and  let  the  ransome 


50  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Of  these,  for  they  are  yours,  be  highly  rated. 

In  this  I  do  but  rights  and  let  it  be 

Styled  justice,  and  not  wilful  cruelty.     [Ejreunt. 


ACT  III.    SCENE  I. 

JTie  same.    A  Camp  before  the  Walls  of  Siehna. 

Enter  Gonzaga,  Astutio,  Roderigo,  and 
\  Jacomo. 

Gonz.  WhatI  have  done,  sir,  by  the  law  of  arms 
I  can  and  will  make  good. 

Ast.  I  have  no  comniission 
To  expostulate  the  act.  These  letters  speak 
The  king  my  master's  love  to  you,  and  his 
VowM  service  to  the  dutchess,  on  whose  person 
I  am  to  give  attendance.  # 

Gonz.  At  this  instant, 
She's  at  Fieuza :'  you  may  spare  the  trouble 
Of  riding  thither:  I  have  advertised  her 
Of  our  success,  and  on  what  humble  terms 
Sienna  stands :  though  presently  I  can 
Possess  it,  I  defer  it,  that  she  may 
Enter  her  own,  and,  as  she  please,  dispose  of 
The  prisoners  and  the  spoil. 

Ast.  I  thank  you,  sir. 
In  the  mean  time,  if  I  may  have  your  license, 
I  have  a  nephew,  and  one  once  my  ward. 
For  whose  liberties  and  ransomes  I  Would  gladly 
Make  composition. 

7  She's  at  Fienza:]    So  the  old  copies.    The  modern  editors 
read  Pienza. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  SI 

V 

Gonz.  They  are,  as  I  take  it, 
Call'd  Gasparo  and  Antonio. 

Ast  The  same,  sir. 

Gonz.  For  them,  you  must  treat  with  these: 
but,  for  Bertoldo, 
He  is  mine  own  :  if  the  king  will  ransome  him, 
He  pays  down  fifty  thousand  crowns;  if  not, 
He  lives  and  dies  my  slave. 

Ast.  Pray  you,  a  word  :  [Aside  to  Gonz. 

The  king  will  rather  thank  you  to  detain  him, 
Than  give  one  crown  to  free  him. 

Gonz.  At  his  pleasure. 
I'll  send  the  prisoners  under  guard :  my  business 
Calls  me  another  way.  [Esit.. 

Ast.  My  service  waits  you. 
Now,  gentlemen,  do  not  deal  like  merchants  with 

me. 
But  noble  captains ;  you  know,  in  great  minds, 
Posse  et  nolle,  nobile. 

Rod.  Pray  you,  speak 
Our  language. 

Jac.  I  find  not,  in  my  commission, 
An  officer's  bound  to  speak  or  understand 
More  than  his  mother-tongue. 

Rod.  If  he  speak  that 
After  midnight,  'tis  remarkable.    . 

Ast.  In  plain  terms,  then, 
Antonio  is  your  prisoner ;  Gasparo,  yours. 

Jac.  You  are  in  the  right. 

Ast.  At  what^  sum  do  you  rate 
Their  several  ransomes? 

Rod.  I  must  make  my  market 
As  the  commodity  cost  me. 

Ast.  As  it  cost  you  ! 
You  did  not  buy  your  captainship  ?  your  desert^ 
I  hope,  advanced  you. 

Rod.  How !  It  weH  appears 


5ft  THE  MAID  Ot  HbNOt^R. 

You  are  no  soldier.    Desert  in  these  days ! 
Desert  may  make  a  serjeant  to  a  colonel,  *  * 

And  it  may  hinder  him  from  rising  higher ; 
But,  if  it  ever  get  a  company, 
A  company,  pray  you  mark  me,  without  money, 
Orprivate  service  done  for  the  general's  mistress, 
With  a  commendatory  epistle  from  her, 
I  will  turn  lanceprezado.' 

Jac.  Pray  you  observe,  sir : 
I  serv'd  two  prenticeships,  just  fourteen  years. 
Trailing  the  puissant  pike,  and  half  so  long 
Had  the  right-hand  file ;  and  I  fought  well,  *tw&s 

said,  too: 
But  I  might  have  serv'd,  and  fought,  and  scrv'd 

till  doomsday, 
And  ne'er  have  carried  a  flag,  but  for  the  legacy 
A  bucksome  widow  of  threescore  bequeathed  me ; 
And  that  too,  njy  back  knows,  I  labour'd  hard  for, 
But  was  better  paid. 

^st.  You  are  merry  with  yourselves : 
But  this  is  from  the  purpose. 

Rod.  To  the' point  then, 
Prisoners  are  not  ta'en  every  day ;  atid,  when 
We  have  them,  we  must  make  the  best  u$ei  of 

them. 
Our  pay  is  little  to  thte  port  we  should  bear. 
And  that  so  long  a  coming,  that  *tis  spent 
Before  we  have  it,  and  hardly  wipes*  off  sedges 
At  the  tavern  and  the  ordinary. 

Jac.  You  may  add,  too, 
Our  sport  ta'en  up  on  trust. 

Rod.  Peace,  thou  smock- vermin  ! 

9  I  will  turn  lanceprezado.]  ^^  The  lowest  range  and  meanest 
officer  in  an  army  is  called  the  lancepesado  or  prezado^  who  is  the 
leader  or  gorernor  of  half  a  file ;  and  therefore  is  commonlj 
called  a  middle  man,  or  captain  over  four." 

.  The  Soldia'9  Accidence^  p*  1. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUlt  53 

Discover  commatiders'  secrets ! — Tn  a  word,  sir, 
We  have  enquired,  and  find  our  prisoners  rich  : 
Two  thousand  crowns  apiece  our  companies  cost 

us; 
And  so  much  each  of  us  vnll  have,  and  that 
In  present  pay. 

Jdc.  It  is  too  little :  yet. 
Since  you  have  said  the  word,  I  am  content ; 
But  will  not  go  a.gazet  less/ 

Ast»  Since  you  are  not 
To  be  brought  lower,  there  is  no  evading ; 
ril  be  your  paymaster. 

Rod.  We  desire  no  better. 

Ast.  But  not  a  word  ofwhat's  agreed  between  usy 
Till  I  have  school'd  my  gallatits. 

Jac.  I  am  dumb,  sir. 

Enter  a  Guard  with  Bertoldo,  Antokio,  and 

Gasparo,  in  irons. 

Bert.  And  where  removed  now?  hath  the  tyrant 
found  out 
Worse  usage  for  us  ? 

Ant.  Worse  it  cannot  be. 
My  greyhound  has  fresh  straw,  and  scraps, Jn  bis 

kennel ; 
But  we  h^ve  neither. 

Gasp.  Did  I  ever  think 
To  wear  such  garters  on  silk  stockings  ?  or 
That  my  too  curious  appetite,  that  turn'd 
At  the  si^ht  of  godwits,  pheasant,   partridge^ 
quails, 

,  '  But  no//  not  go  a  gueet  lts$^  A  gazet  (gazetta)  is  a  Vene* 
tkni  cein,  worth  about  thvee-farthings  of  oar  money.  The  petty 
Italian  coorant,  or  written  sommary  of  intelligence,  (JogRo 
^awtfij  was  or^inalty  sold  for  thit  sum  ;  hence  it  derived  thd 
name,  which  is  now  common  to  all  the  now'spapett  of  Entope. 

VOL.  III.  ♦  F 


54  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

• 

Larks,wooclcocks/cal ver'd  salnion/  as  coarse  diet, 
Would  leap  at  a  mouldy  crust? 

Jnt.  And  go  without  it, 
So  oft  as  I  do  ?  Oh  !  how  have  I  jeer*d 
The  city  entertainmetjt !  A  huge  shoulder 
Of  glorious,  fat  ram-mutton,  seconded 
With  a  pair  of  tame  cats  or  conies,  a  crab-tart, 
With  a  worthy  loin  of  veal,  aud  valiant  capon^ 
Mortified  to  grow  tender  ! — these  1  scorn'd. 
From  their  plentiful  horn  of  abundance,  though 

invited  : 
But  now  I  could  carry  my  own  stool  to  a  tripe,' 
Aud  call  their  chitterlings  charity,  and  bless  the 

founder* 
Bert.  O  that  I  were  no  further  sensible 
Of  my  miseries  than  you  are !  you,  like  beasts, 
Feel  only  stings  of  hunger,  and  complain  not 
But  when  you're  empty :  but  your  narrow  souls 
(If  you  have  any)  cannot  comprehend 

* caWer'd  salmon,]    For  calver^d  salmon 

Mr.  M.  Mason,  vfho  had  not  yet  discovered  the  necessity  <'  of 
reading  with  attention  the  dramatic  productions  of  the  time,'* 
gives  us  coUgr*d  salmon.  The  old  expression,  however,  is  not 
uncommon :  indeed  it  occurs  again  in  the  following  pages : 

^^  great  lords  sometimes, 

<^  For  change,  leare  calver'd  salmon^  and  eat  sprats." 

Tk9  Guardian. 
'  ^<  My  footboy  shall  eat  pheasants,  calver'd  salmon^ 

^^  Knot,  godwits,  &c."  Tke  Alchemist, 

This  dish  was  not  out  of  request  in  ShadwelPs  time:  Tope  (in 
the  ScowrersJ  says,  *'  I  came  here  to  venture  for  a  good  stomach 
to  my  calver^d  salmon  and  turbot.*'  It  appears  to  have  differed 
but  little  from  what  is  now  called  pickled  salmon ;  as  the  direc 
tions  for  preparing  it  are — ^^  to  boil  it  in  vinegar  with  oil  and 
spices.  The  word  is  still  in  use,  but  not  in  the  exact  sense  of 
|he  texU     To  calver  fish  is  now  a  very  simple  process. 

^  — • r-  to  a  tripe,  j  i,  e.  to  a  tripe  shop.    Bj 

^^  carrying  his  own  stool,"  he  means  th|i.t  he  would  not  wait  for 
the  formality  of  an  invitation,  but  trust  to  the  vender's  hospita- 
lity for  a  meal.    See  vol.  i.  p.  181r 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


S5 


How  insupportable  the  torments  are, 

Which  a  free  and  noble  soul,  made  captive, suffers. 

Most  miserable  men  ! — and  what  am  I,  then, 

That  envy  you  ?  Fettera,  thou^syh  made  of  gold, 

Express  base  thraldom  :  and  ^11  delicates 

Prepared  by  Median  cooks  for  epicures, 

When  not  our  own,  are  bitter  ;   quilts  fill'd  high 

With  gossamere  and  roses,  cannot  yield 

The  body  soft  repose,  the  mind  kept  waking 

With  anguish  and  affliction. 

u4s't.  My  good  lord 

Bert.  This  is  no  time  nor  place  for  flattery,  sir : 
Pray  you,  style  me  as  I  am,  a  wretch  forsaken 
Of  the  world,  as  myself. 

Ast.  I  would  it  were 
In  me  to  help  you. 

Bert.  If  that  you  want  power,  sir. 
Lip-comfort  cannot  cure  met  Pray  you,  leave  me 
To  mine  o.wn  private  thoughts.  \JValksby. 

Ast.  [Comesjorward  ]  My  valiant  nephew  ! 
And  my  more  than  warlike  ward  !  J  am  glad  to 

see  you, 
After  your  glorious  conquests.  Are  these  chains, 
Rewards  for  your  good  service  ?  if  they  are 
You  should  wear  them  on  your  necks,  since  they 

are  massy, 
Like  aldermen  of  the  war. 

Ant.  You  jeer  us  too  ! 

Gasp.  Good  uncle,  name  not,  as  you  area  man 
of  honour, 
That  fatal  word  of  war  ;  the  very  sound  of  it 
Is  more  dreadful  than  a  cannon. 

Ant.  But  redeem  us 
From  this  captivity,  and  I'll  vow  hereafter 
Never  to  wear  a  sword,  or  cut  my  meat 
With  a  knife  that  has  an  edge  or  point;    Til 
starve  first. 

•Fa 


56  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Gasp.    I  will   cry  broom,  or    cat's-meat,    in 
Palermo; 
Turn  porter,  carry  burthens,  any  thitlg, 
.  Rather  than  live  a  soldier. 
Asi.  This  should  have 
Been  thought  upon  before.  At  what  price,  think 

Your  two  wise  heads  arc  rated  ? 

Ant.  A  calf  s  head  is 
More  worth  than  mine ;  I'm  sure  it  has  more 
brains  in*t, 
'  Or  I  had  ne'er  come  here.* 

Rod^  And  t  will  eat  it 
.  With  bacon,  if  I  have  not  speedy  ransome. 

Ant.  And  a  little  garlick  too,  for  your  own 
sake,  sir : 
'Twill  boil  in  your  stomach  else. 

Gasp,  Beware  of  ifiine, 
Or  the  horns  may  chocik  you  ;  I  am  married,  sin 
Ant.  You  shall  have  my  row  of  houses  neai; 

the  palace. 
Gasp.  And  my  villa ;  all — r- 
Ant.  All  that  we  have. 

Ast.W  tWy  have  more  wit  hereafter:  forthistime, 
You  are  ransomed. 


^-  Fm  sure  it  has  more  brains  %n*t^ 


Or  I  had  nt^er  come  here."]  Lord  Townshend  can  scarcely  be 
suspected  of  borrowing  a  bon-mot  from  Massinger,  and  yet  he 
has  something  very  like  this.    As  he  wa&  giving  orders  to  an 

aide-de-camp  at  the  battle  of* a  drummer,  who  stood 

near  him,  had'  his  head  taken  off  by  a  cannon  ball,  and  the 
brains  flew  oyer  his  lordship. — He  stopped  his  directions,  and 
gazed  very  attentively  on  the  spectacle ;  when  the  aide-de-camp, 
who  imagined  that  his  lordship  was  moralizing  on  the  sad  event, 
besought  him  to  moderate  his  concern  ;  for  that  such  accidents 
were  of  common  occurrence  in  war. — ^^  Pshaw,"  replied  his  lord, 
ship,  ^^  1  know  that  well  enough.  I  was  only  thinking  what  the 
*<  devil  could  have  brought  this  fellow  here^  witb  such  a  quantity 
«*  of  brains !"  ^ 


* 

\ 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  61 

Jac.  Off  with  their  irons. 

Rod.  Do,  do: 
If  you  are  ours  again,  you  know  your  price. 

Ant.  Pray  you  dispatch  us :  I  shall  ne'er  believe 
I  am  a  free  man,  till  I  set  my  foot 
In  Sicily  again,  and  drink  Palermo^ 
And  in  Palermo  too. 

Ast.  The  wind  sits  fair, 
You  shall  aboard  to  night :  with  the  rising  sun 
You  may  touch  upon  the  coast.     But  take  your 

leaves 
Of  the  late  general  first. 

Gasp.  I  will  be  brief, 

Ant.  And  I.  My  lord,  heaven  keep  you ! 

Gasp,  Yours,  to  use 
In  the  way  of  peace;  but  as  your  soldiers,  never. 

Ant.  A  pox  of  war  1  no  more  of  war. 

[^E^eunt  Rod.  Jac.  Ant.  and  Gasp. 

Bert.  Have  you 
Authority  to  loose  their  bonds,  yet  leave 
The  brother  of  vour  king,  whose  worth  disdains 
Comparison  with  such  as  these,  in  irons  ? 
If  ransome  may  redeem  therh,  I  have  lands, 
A  patrimony  of  mine  own,  assigned  me 
By  my  deceased  sire,  to  satisfy 
Whate'er  can  be  demanded  for  my  freedom. 

Ast.  I  wish  you  had,  sir ;  but  the  king,  who  yields 
No  reason  for  his  will,  in  his  displeasure 
Hath  seized  on  all  you  had ;  nor  will  Gonzaga, 
Whose  prisoner  now  you  are,  accept  of  less 
Than  fifty  thousand  crowns. 

Bert.  I  find  it  now, 
That  misery  never  comes  alone.  But,  grant 
The  king  is  yet  inexorable,  time 
May  work  him  to  a  feeling  of  my  sufferings. 
I  have  friends  that  swore  their  lives  and  fortunes 
were 


58  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

At  my  devotion,  and,  amortg  the  rest, 
Yourself,  my  lord,  when  forfeited  to  the  law 
For  a  foul  murtler,  and  in  cold  blood  done, 
I  made  your  life  my  gift,  and  reconciled  yoii 
To  this  incensed  king,  and  got  your  pardon. 
— Beware  ingratitude.  I  knoMr  you  are  rich, 
And  may  pay  dowmthe  sum. 

Ast.  I  might,  my  lord ; 
But  pardon  me. 

Bert,  And  will  Astutio  prove,  then. 
To  |>lease  a  passionate  man,  (the  king's  no  more,) 
False  to  his  maker,  and  his  reason,  which 
Commands  more  than  I  ask  ?  O  summer- friendship, 
Whose  flattering  leaves,  that  shadow'd  us  in  our 
Prosperity,  with  the  least  gust  drop  off 
In  the  autumn  of  adversity  !  How  like 
A  prison  is  to  a  grave!  when  dead,  we  are 
With  solemn  pomp  brought  thither,  and  our  heirs. 
Masking  their  joy  in  false,  dissembled  tears, 
Weep  o'er  the  herse ;  but  earth  no  sooner  covers 
The  earth  brought  thither,  but  they  turn  away. 
With  inward  smiles,  the  dead  no  more  remember'd : 
So,  enter'd  in  a  prison 

Ast.  My  occasions 
Command  me  hence,  my  lord. 

Bert.  Pray  you,  leave  me,  do; 
And  tell  the  cruel  king,  that  I  will  wear 
These  fetters  till  my  flesh  and  they  are  one 
Incorporated  substance.  [Exit  Astutio.^  In  myself. 
As  in  a  glass.  Til  look  on  human  frailty, 
And  curse  the  height  of  royal  blood  :  since  I, 
In  being  born  near  to  Jove,  am  near  his  thunder.' 
Cedars  once  shaken  with  a  storm,  their  own 


'  In  being  born  near  to  JoDe^  am  near  his  thunder,"]  Tlofpu  Awjr 
MM*  Tf  TToppv  Kipavttt,  Wc  haTc  olfeady  had  an  allusiou  to  thig 
proyerb.  Vol.  I.  p.  22. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  59 

Weight  grubs  their  roots  out. — Lead  me  where 

you  please; 
I  am  his,  not  fortune's  martyr,  and  will  die 
The  great  example  of  his  cruelty.  lEj:it  guarded. 

% 

•  ♦  *"  # 

SCENE    II. 

Palermo.     A  Grove  near  the  Palace. 
Enter  Adorn r. 

Ador.  He  undergoes  my  challenge,  ancj  con- 
temns it, 
And  threatens  me  with  the  late  edict  made 
'Gainst  duellists, — the  altar  cowards  fly  to. 
But  I,  that  am  engaged,  and  nourish  in  me 
A  higher  aim  than  fair  Camiola  dreams  of, 
Must  not  sit  down  thus.   In  the  court  I  dare  not 
Attempt  him  ;  and  in  public,  he's  so  guarded, 
-  With  a  herd  of  parasites,  clients,  fools,-and  suitors, 
That  a  musket  cannot  reach  him  : — my  designs 
Admit  of  no  delay.  This  is  her  birthday, 
Which,  with  a  fit  and  due  solemnity, 
Camiola  celebrates  :  and  on  it,  all  such 
As  love  or  serve  her  usually  present 
A  tributary  duty.  I'll  have  something 
To  give,*  if  my  intelligence  prove  true, 
Shall  find  acceptance.  I  am  told,  near  this  grove 
Fulgentio,  every  morning,  makes  his  markets 
With  his  petitioners ;  I  may  present  him  . 

With  a  sharp  petition! Hai  'tis  he:  my  fate 

Be  ever  bless'd  for't ! 

jE»/er  Fulgentio  flwrf  Page.  ^ 

FuL  Command  such  as  wait  me  ' 
Not  to  presume,  at  the  least  for  half  an  hour. 
To  press  on  my  retirements. 


60  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Page.  I  will  say,  sir, 
You  arc  at  your  prayers. 

FuL  That  will  not  find  belief; 
Courtiers  have  something  ebe  to  do : — be  gone, 
sir.  [Exit  Page. 

Challenged!   'tis   well;   and  by  a  groom!    still 

better. 
Was  this  shape  made  to  fight  ?  I  have  a  tongue  yet, 
Howe'er  no  sword,  to  kill  him ;  and  what  way, 
This  morning  I'll  resolve  of.  [Exit. 

Ador.  I  shall  cross 
Your  resolution,  or  suff^er  for  you. 

[Exit  following  him. 


SCENE    III. 

The  same.    A  Room  in  Camiola^s  Home. 

Enter  Camiola^  followed  by  Servants  with  Pre'* 
sents;  Sylli,  a^i^f  Clarinda. 

SyL  What  are' all  these? 
Clar.  Servants  with  several  presents. 
And  rich  ones  too. 

1  Serv.  With  her  best  wishes,  madam. 
Of  many  such  days  to  you,  the  lady  Petula 
Presents  you  with  this  fan. 

2  Ser*o.  This  diamond, 
From  your  aunt  Honoria. 

3  Serx).  This  piece  of  plate 

From  your  uncle,  old  Vicentio,  with  your  arms 
Graven  upon  it. 

Cam.  Good  friends,  they  are  too 
Munificent  in  their  love  and  favour  to  me. 
Out  of  my  cabinet  return  such  jewels 
As  this  directs  you:' — \To  Clarinda.] — for  your 
pains;  and  yours; 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  61 

Nor  inust  you  be  forgotten^    [Gives  them  money.'] 

Honour  me 
With  the  drinking  of  a  health. 

1  Serv.  Gold,  on  my  life ! 

2  Sero.  She  scorns  to  give  ba3e  silver* 

3  Sero.  Would  she  had  been 
Born  every  month  in  the  year ! 

1  Serv.  Month  !  every  day* 

2  Sero,  Shew  such  another  maid. 

3  Serv.  All  happiness  wait  you  I 
*    Clar.  ril  see  your  will  done, 

[Exeunt  Sylli,  Clarindd^  and  Servants. 

Enter  Adorn i  wounded 

Cam.  How,  Adorni  wounded  ! 

Ador.  A  scratch  got  in  your  service,  else  not 

worth 
Your  observation  :  I  bring  not,  madam. 
In  honour  of  your  birthday,  antique  plate, 
Or  pearl,  for  which,  the  savage  Indian  dives 
Into  the  bottom  of  the  sea;  nor  diamonds 
Hewn  from  steep  rocks  with  danger.  Such  as  give 
To  those  that  have,  what  they  themselves  want, 

aim  at 
A  glad  return  with  profit :  yet,  despise  not 
My  offering  at  the  altar  of  your  favour  ; 
Nor  let  the  lowness  of  the  giver  lessen 
The  height  of  what's  presented  ;  since  it  is 
A  precious  jewel,  almost  forfeited, 
And  dimm'd  with  clouds  of  infamy,  redeemed, 
And,  in  its  natural  splendour,  with  addition 
Restored  to  the  true  owner. 

Cham.  How  is  this  ? 
•  Ador.  Not  to  hold  you  in  suspense,  I  bring 

you,  madam, 
Your  wounded  reputation  cured,  the  sting 


62  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Of  virulent  malice,  festering  your  fair  name) 
Pluck'd  out  and  trod  on.  That  proud  man,  that  was 
Denied  ihe  honour  of  your  bed,  yet  durst, 
With  his  untrue  reports,  strumpet  your  fame, 
Compeird  by  me,  hath  given  himself  the  lie. 
And  in  his  own  blood  wrote  it : — you  rtay  read 
Fulgentio  subscribed,  {Offering  a  paper. 

Cam,  I  am  amazed  ! 

Ador.  It  does  deserve  it,   madam.     Common 
service 
Is  fit  for  hinds,  and  the  reward  proportion'd 
To  their  conditions :  therefore,  look  not  on  me 
As  a  follower  of  your  father's  fortunes,  or 
One   that  subsists  on  yours : — ^you  frown !  my 

service 
Merits  not  this  aspect. 

Cam.  Which  of  my  favours, 
I  might  say  bounties,  haih  begot  and  nourish'd 
'  This  more  than  rude  presumption  ?  Since  you  had 
An  itch  to  try. your  desperate  valour,  wherefore 
Went  you  not  to  the  war?  Couldst  thou  suppose 
My  innocence  could  ever  fall  so  low 
As  to  have  need  of  thy  rash  sword  to  guard  it  . 
Against  malicious  slander?  O  how  much 
Those  ladies  are  deceived  and  cheated,  when 
The  clearness  aiid  integrity  of  their  actions 
Do  not  defend  themselves,  and  statid  secure 
On  their  own  bases  !  Such  as  in  a  colour 
Of  seeming  service  give  protection  to  them, 
Betray  their  own  strengths.  Malice  scorn'd,  puts 

QUt 

Itself;  but  argued,  ^ives  a  kind  of  credit 
To  a  false  accusation.  In  this,  this  your 
Most  memofable  service,  you  believed 
You  did  me  right ;  but  you  have  wrong'd  me  more 
In  your  defence  of  my  undoubted  honour, 
Than  false  Fulgentio  could. 


THE  MAID  OP  honour:  6s 

Ador.  I  am  sorry  what  was 
So  well  intended  is  so  ill  received ; 

Re-enter  Clarinda. 

Yet,  under  your  correction,  you  wish'd 
Bertoldo  had  been  present. 

Cam.  True,  I  did : 
But  he  and  you,  sir,  are  not  parallels, 
Nor  must  you  think  yourself  so. 

Ador.  I  am  M'^hat 
You'll  please  to  have  me. 

Cam.  If  Bertoldo  had 
Punish'd  Fulgentio's  insolence,  it  had  shewn 
His  love  to  her  whom,  in  his  judgment,  he 
Vouchsafed  to  make  his  wife;  a  height,  I  hope, 
Whjch  you  dare  not  aspire  to.  The  same  actions 
Suit  not  all  men  alike  ; — but  I  perceive 
Repentance  inyour  looks.  For  this  time,  leaveme ; 
^I  may  forgive,  perhaps  forget,  your  folly : 
Conceal  yourself  till  this  storm  be  blown  over. 
'  You  will  be  sought  for;  yet,  if  my  estate 

\Gvces  him  her  hand  to  kiss. 
Can  hinder  it,  shall  -not  suffer  in  my  service. 

Ador.  This  is  something  yet,  though  I  miss'd 
the  mark  I  shot  at.  [AsidCy  andea^it. 

Cam.  This  geutlenian  is  of  a  noble  temper ; 
And  I  too  harsh,  perhaps^  in  my  reproof: 
Was  I  not,  Clarinda? 

Clar.  I  am  not  to  censure 
Your  actions,  madam  ;  but  there  are  a  thousand 
Ladies,  and  of  good  fame,  in  such  a  cause 
Would  be  proud  of  such  a  servant. 

Cham.  It  may  be; 


64  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


Enter  a  Servant. 

Let  me  offend  in  this  kind.    Why,  uncall'd  for? 

Sera.    The    signiors,    madam,    Gasparo    and 
Antonio, 
Selected  friends  of  the  renown'd  Bertoldo, 
Put  ashore  this  morning. 

Cam,  Without  him? 

Sero.  I  think  so. 

Cam.  Never  think  more  then. 

Sero.  They  have  been  at  court, 
Kiss'd  the  king's  hand;  and,  their  first  duties  done 
To  him,  appear  ambitious  to  tender 
To  you  their  second  service. 

Cam.  Wait  them  hither.  [Knt  Servant. 

Fear,  do  not  rack  me  !  Reason,  now,  if  ever. 
Haste  with  thy  aids,  and  tell  me,  such  a  woi\deT 
As  my  Bertoldo  is,  with  such  care  fashion'd. 
Must  not,  nay,  cannot,  in  heaven's  providence 

Enter  Antonio  and  Gasparo. 

So  soon  miscarry  ! — pray  you,  forbear;  ere  you 

take 
The  privilege,  as  strangers,  to  salute  me, 
(Excuse  my  manners,)  make  me  first  understand 
How  it  is  with  Bertoldo. 

Gasp.  The  relation 
Will  not,  I  fear,  deserve  your  thanks. 

Jlnt.  I  wish 
Some  oflier  should  inform  you. 

Cam.  Is  he  dead  ? 
You  see,  though  with  some  fear,  I  dare  enquire  it. 

Gasp.  Dead  !  Would  that"  were  the  wo'rst  j  a 
debt  were  paid  then, 
Kings  in  their  birth  owe  nature. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR*  63 

Cam.  Is  there  aught 
More  terrible  than  -death  ? 

Ant.  Yes,  to  a  spirit 
Like  his  ;  cruel  imprisonineut,  and  that 
Without  the  hope  of  freedom. 

Cam.  You  abuse  me :  * 
The  royal  king  cannot,  in  love  to  virtue, 
(Though  all  springs  of  affection  were  dried  up,) 
But  pay  his  ransom e. 

Gasp.  When  you  know  what  'tis, 
You  will  think  otherwise :  no  less  will  do  it 
Than  fifty  thousand  crowns. 

Cam.  A  petty  sum,* 
The   price  weigh'd    with  the   purchase:    fifty 

thousand ! 
To  the  king  'tis  nothing.  He  that  can  spare  more 
To  his  minion  for  a  masque,  cannot  but  ransome 
Such  a  brother  at  a  million.    You  wrong 
The  king's  magnificence. 

Ant.  In  your  opinion  ; 
But  'tis  most  certain :  he  does  not  alone 
In  himself  refuse  to  pay  it,  but  forbids 
All  other  men. 

Cam.  Are  you  sure  of  thii^  ? 

Gasp.  You  may  read 
The  edict  to  that  purpose,  publish'd  by  him ; 
That  will  resolve  you. 

Cam.  Possible !  pray  )'ou,  stand  off. 
If  I  do  not  mutter  treason  to  myself, 
My  heart  will  break;  and  yet  I  will  not  curse  him; 
He  IS  my  king.    The  news  you  have  delivered 

'  Cam.  You  abuse  tne  ;1  i.  e.  practise  on  my  credalitj  with  a- 
forged  tale ;  the  word. often  occurs  in  thifr  sense. 

*  A  petty  tfiim,]  The  old  copies  read  a  pretty  sum ;  and  tire 
probably  right:  pretty  is  used  in  the  sense  of  triflings  inconti* 
derabie^  kc.  b]^  our  old  writers;  bat  I  ha?e  not  distnrbfd  iJk» 
text. 


66  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Makes  me  weary  of  your  company;  we^ll  salute 
When  we  meet  next.  I'll  bring  you  to  the  door. 
Nay,  pray  you,  no  more  compliments.  • 

Gasp.  One*  thing  more, 
And  that's  substantial :  let  your  Adorni 
Look  to  himself. 

j4nt.  The  king  is  much  incensed 
Against  him  for  Fulgentio. 

Cam.  As  I  am, 
For  your  slowness  to  depart. 

Bothm  Farewell,  sweet  lady. 

[Eseunt  Gaspare  and  Antonio. 

Cam.  O  m&re  than  impious  times!  when  not 
alone 
Subordinate  ministers  of  justice  are 
Corrupted  and  seduced,  ^but  kings  themselves, 
The  greater  wheels  by  which  the  lesser  move, 
Are  broken,  or'  disjointed !  could  it  be,  else, 
A  king,  to  sooth  his  politic  ends,  should  so  far 
Forsake  his  honour,  as  at  once  to  break 
The  adamant  chains  of  nature  and  religion, 
To  bind  up  atheism,*  as  a  defence 
To  his  dark  counsels  ?    Will  it  ever  be. 
That  to  deserve  too  much  is  dangerous, 
And  virtue,  when  too  eminent,  a  crime  ? 
Must  she  serve  fortune  still,  or,  when  stripped  of 
Her  gay  and  glorious  favours,  lose  the  beauties 
Of  her  own  natural  shape  ?  O,  my  Bertoldo, 
Thou  only,  sun  in  honour's  sphere,  how  soon 

7  Are  broken^  or  disjainted!^  So  all  the  editors,  till  Mr.  M. 
MasoD,  who  chooses  to  read — ^Are  broken  land  disjointed.  If 
the  wheels  were  once  broken,  the  state  of  their  joints  was  a 
matter  of  no  great  consequence. 

'  To  bind  up  atheism,]  Our  old  writers  seem  to  hare  used 
such  words  as  profaneness,  blasphemy,  atheism^  &c.  with  a 
laxity  which  modern  practice  does  not  acknowledge.  They  ap. 
plied  them  to  any  extraordinary  Tiolatioo  of  moral  or  natural 
decorum. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.;  67 

Art  thou  eclipsed  and  darken'd  !  not  the  nearness 

Of  blood  prevailing  on  the  king ;  nor  all 

The  benefits  to  the  general  good  dispensed. 

Gaining  a  retribution  !  But  that 

To  owe  a  courtesy  to  a  simple  virgin 

Would  take  from  the'  deserving,  I  find  in  me    . 

Some  sparks  of  fire,  which,  fann'd  with  honour's 

breath, 
Might  rise  into  a  flame,  and  in  men  darken 
Their  usurp'd  splendor.    Ha  !  my  aim.  is  high, 
And,  for  the  honour  of  my  sex,  to  fall  so. 
Can  never  prove  inglorious. — Tis  resolv'd : 
Call  in  Adornr. 

Clar.  I  am  happy  in 
Such  an  employment,  madam.  [Exit. 

Cam.  He's  a  man, 
I  know,  that  at  a  reverent  distance  loves  me ; 
And  such  are  ever  faitiifuL  .  What  a  sea 
Of  melting  ice  I  walk  on  !  what  strange  censures 
Am  I  to  undergo  !  but  good  intents 
Deride  all  future  rumours.    . 

Re-enter  CLARiNbAm//i  Adorni. 

Ador.   I  obey 
Your  summons,  madam. 

Cam.  Leave  the  place,  Clarinda ; 
One  woman,  in  a  secret  of  such  weight, 
Wise  mea  may  think  too  much:  [Exit  ClarindaJ\ 

nearer,  Adorni. 
I  warrant  it  with  a  smile.    • 

Ador.  I  cannot  ask 
Safer  protection  ;  what's  your  will? 

•  Would  take  from  the  deserving]    The  modern  editors  read, 
thy  deserving.    I  ha?e  followed  the  quarto.    The  observation  is 
general,  not  limited  to.  her  lover.    I  need  not  observe  on  the 
^  uncommon  beauty  of  this  spirited  speech. 


68  tHE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Cam.  To  doubt 
Your  ready  desire  to  serve  me,  or  prepare  you  * 
With  the  repetition  of  former  merits. 
Would,  in  my  diffidence,  wrong  you:  bull  will, 
And  without  circumstance,  in  the  trust  that  I 
Impose  upon  you,  free  you  from  suspicion. 

Ador.  1  foster  none  of  you. 

Cam.  I  know  you  do  not. 
You  are,  Adomi,  by  the  love  you  owe  me— — 

A^or.  The  surest  conjuration. 

Cam.  Take  me  with  you.* — 
Love  born  of  duty  ;  but  advance  no  further. 
You  are,  sir,  as  I  said,  to  do  me  service, 
To  undertake  a  task,  in  which  your  faith, 
Judgment,  discretion—  in  a  word,  your  all 
That's  good,  must  be  engaged  ;  nor  must  you 

study. 
In  the  execution,  but  what  may  make 
For  the  ends  I  aim  at. 

Ador.  They  admit  no  rivals. 

Cam.  You  answer  well.    You  have  heard  of 
Bertoldo's 
Captivity,  and  the  king's  neglect ;  the  greatness 
Of  his  ransome;  fifty  thousand  crowns,  Adorni; 
Two  parts  of  my  estate  ! 

Adqr.  To  what  tends  this  ?  [Aside. 

Cam.  Yet  I  so  love  the  gentleman,  for  to  you 
I  will  confess  my  weakness,  that  I  purpose 
Now,  when  he  is  forsaken  by  the  king, 
And  his  own  hopes,  to  ransome  him,  and  receive 

him 
Into  my  bosom,  as  my  lawful  husljand— 
Why  change  you  colour  ? 

Ador.  'Tis  in  wonder  of 
Your  virtue,  madam. 

^  Take  mc  with  yo».]  See  vaL  ii.  p.  40^. 


THE  I*AI1?  PF  HONOUR.  09 

Cam.  You  must,  therefore,  to  •     » 

Sienaa  for  me,  and  pay  to  Gonzaga 
This  ransome  for  his  liberty ;  you  shall 
Have  bills  of  exchange  along  with  you.    Let  hin 

swear     ^ 
A  solemn  contract  to  me  ;  for  you  must  be 
My  principal  witness,  if  he  should-!— but  why 
Do  I  entertain  these  jealousies  ?  You  will  do  this  ? 

Ader.   Faithfully,  madam — ^^but  not  live  long 
after.  [Aside. 

Cam.  One  thing  I  had  forgot :    besides   his. 
•     freedom. 
He  may  want  accommodations  ;  furnish  him 
According  to  his  birth :  and  from  Camiola 
Deliver  this  kiss,  printed  on  y out  lips, 

[Kisses  him. 
Seal'd  on  his  hand.  You  shall  not  see  my  blushes : 
I'll  instantly  dispatch  you.  \Ea?it.' 

Ador.  I  am  half 
Hang'd  out  o'  the  way  already. — ^Was  there  ever 
Poor  lover  so  employed  against  himself; 
To  make  way  for  his  rival  ?  I  must  do  it, 
Nay,  more,  I  will.    If  loyalty  canUnd 
Recompetise  beyond  hope  or  imagination, 
Let  it  fall  on  me  in  the  other  world, 
As  a  rewariJ,  for  in  this  I  dare  not  hope  it.  [Exit. 


VOL.  Ill*  *  Q 


70  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


ACT   IV.    SCENE  I. 

The  Siennese.    A  Camp  before  the  Walls  of  Sienna. 

-Ew?^r  GoNZAGA,  PiERio,  RoDERiGo,  and 

Jacomo. 

Gonz»  You  have  seized  upon  tlie  citadel,  and 
disarmed 
All  that  could  make  resistance  ? 

Pier.  -Hunger  had 
Don^  that,  before  we  came ;  nor  was  the  soldier 
Compeirdtoseek  for  prey:  the  famish'd  wretches, 
In  hope  of  mercy,  as  a  sacrifice  ofFer'd 
All  that  was  worth  the  taking. 
-  Gonz.  You  proclaimed. 

On  pain  of  death^  no  violence  should  be  ofFer'd 
To  any  woman  ?    - 

Rod*  But  it  needed  not ; 
For  famine  had  so  humbled  them,  and  ta'en  off 
The  care  of  their  sex's  honour,  that  there  was 

not  - 

So  coy  a  beauty  in  the  town,  but  would^ 
For  half  a  mouldy  biscuit,  sell  herself 
To  a  poor  bisognion,*  and  without  shrieking. 

^  To  a  poor  bisognion,]  BUogniy  In  Jtalian,  signifies  a  recruit. 
M.  Mason. 

Mr.  M.  Mason's  Italian  is  nearly  as  correct  as  his  English. 
Bisogno  is  sometimes,  indeed,  used  for  a  soldier  in  his  first  cam- 
paign, (a  tyrOf)  bat  for  a  recroit,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,  I 
believe,  never.  A  bisognian  (from  bisognoso^)  is  a  necessitous 
person,  a  beggar,  Sec.  In  our  old  writers  it  frequently  occurs 
as  a  term  of  contempt. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  71 

Gonz.  Where  is  the  duke  of  Urbin  ? 
Jac.  Under  guard, 
As  you  directed, 

Gonz.  See  the  soldiers  set 
In  rank  and  file,  and,  as  the  dutchess  passes, 
Bid  them  vail  their  ensigns ;'  and  charge  them 

on  their  lives, 
Not  to  cry  JVhores  I 

Jac.  The  devil  cannot  fright  them 
From  their  military  license.    Though  they  know 
They  are  het*  subjects,  and  wilLpart  with  being, 
To  do  her  service ;  yet,  since  she's  a  woman. 
They  will  touch  at  her  breech  with  their  tongues  i 

and  that  is  all 
That  they  can  hope  fon  . 

[A  shouty  and  a  general  cry  within^  Whores ! 
whores ! 
Gottz.  O  the  devil !  they  are  at  it 
Hell  stop  their  brawling  throats.    Again !   make 

up, 
And  cudgel  them  into  jelly. 

Rod.  To  no  purpose, 
Though  their  mothers  were  there,  they  would 
have  the  same  name  for  them.      \Exeunt. 

*  Bid  ihem^dlX  their  ensigns;]   i.  e.  lower  them,  in  token  of 
f  aperior  Mitbority : 

^  Now  the  time  is  cot^e 

<^  That  France  most  vail  her  loltf -plomed  ctett) 

<'  And  let  her  head  fall  into  England's  lap." 

First  Part  of  King  Henrj/  VI. 


•G8 


72  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


SCENE   II. 

TAc  same.    Another  Part  of  the  Camp. 

Loud  music.  Enter  Roderigo,  Jacomo,  Pierio, 
GoNZAGAy  and  AvRELi A  under  a  Canopy.    As- 
■  TUTio  presents  her  with  letters. 

Gonz,  I  do  beseech  your  highness  not  to  ascribe,. 
To  the  want  of  discipline,  the  barbarous  rudeness 
Of  the  soldier,  in  his  profanation  of     . 
'  Your  sacred  name  and  virtues, 

Aurel.  No,  lord  general ; 
I Ve  heard  my  father  say  oft,  'twas  a  custom 
Usual  in  the  camp ;  nor  are. they  to  be  punish'd 
For  words,  that  have,  in  fact,  deserved  so  well : 
Let  the  one  excuse  the  other. 

All.  Excellent  princess  !      , 

Aurel.    But  for  these  aids  from  Sicily  sent 
against  us,     ' 
To  blast-  our  spring  of  conquest  in  the  bud  ; 
I  cannot  find,  my  lord  amb^assador. 
How  we  should  entertain't  but  as  a  wrong. 
With  purpose  to  detain  us  from  our  own,  ^ 
Howe'er  the  king  endeavours,  in  his  letters, 
To  mitigate  the  affront. 

,  Ast. ,  Your  grace  hereafter 
'May  hear  from  me  such  strong  assurances 
Of  his  unlimited  desires  to  serve  you, 
As  will,  I  hope,  drown  in  forgetfulness 
The  memory  of  what's  past. 

Aurel.  We  shall  take  time 
To  search'  the  depth  oft  farther,  and  proceed 
As  our  council  shall  direct  us. 

Gonz.  We  present  you  ^ 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  75 

3Vith  the  key^  of  the  city;  all  lets  are  removed, 
Your  way  is  smooth  and  easy  ;  at  your  feet 
Your  proudest  enemy  falls. 

Aurel.  We  thank  your  valours : 
A  victory  without  blood  is  twice  achieved, 
And  the  disposure  of  it,  to  us  tender'd, 
The  greatest  honour.  Worthy  captains,  thanks  I 
My  love  extends  itself  to  alh 

Gonz.  Make  way  there, 

[A  Guard  drawn  up  ;  AureUa  passes  through 
them.  Loud  music*  .  {.Ea^eunt. 


SCENE    III. 

Siepna.    A  Roam  in,  the  Prison. 

Bebtoldo  is  discovered  in  fetters^  reading. 

Bert.  Tis  here  determined,  (gr^at  examples^ 

^rm'd 
With  arguments,  produced  to  make  it  good,) 
That  neither  tyrantSf  nor  the  wrested  laws, 
The  people's  frantic  rage,  sad  exile,  want, 
Nor  that  which  I  endure,  captivity, 
Can  do  a  wise  man  any  injury. 
Thus  Seneca,  when. he  wrote  it,  thought — But 

then  ; 

Felicity  courted  him  ;  his  wealth  exceeding 
A  private  man's ;  happy  in  the  embraces 
Or  his  chaste  wife  Paulina ;  his  house  full 
Of  children,  clients,  servants,  flattering  friends. 
Soothing  his  lip-positions ;  and  created 
Prince  of  the  senate,  by  the  general  voice, 
At  his  new  pupirs  suffrage :  then,  no  doubt. 
He  held,  and  did  believe,  this.     But  no  sooner 
The  prince's  frowns  and  jealousies  had  thrown  him 


74  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Out  of  security's  lap,  aud  a  centurion 

Had  ofFer'd  him  what  choice  of  deteith  he  plea6«fd| 

But  told  him,  die  he  must ;   when  straight  the 

armour 
Of  his  80  boasted  fortitude  fell  off, 

\Thr(Ws  away  the  book. 
Complaining  of  his  frailty.     Can  it  then 
Be  censured  womanish  weakness  in  me,  if, 
Thus  clogg'd  with  irons,  and  the  period 
To  close  up  all  calamities  denied  me, 
Which  was  presented  Seneca,  I  wish 
I  ne'er  had  being;  at  least,  never  knew 
What  happiness  was;    or  argue  with  heaven's 

justice,  ^ 
Tearing  my  locks,  and,  in  defiance,  tlirowing 
Dust  in  the  aii;?  or,  faltiftg  on  the  grd&nd,  thus 
With  my  nails  and  teeth  to  dig  a  grave,  or  rend 
The  bowels  of  the  earth,  my  step-mother, 
And  not  a  natural  parent  ?  or  thus  practise 
Ta  die,  and,  ai  I  were  i&s^nslble. 
Believe  I  had  no  motion  ?  [FaUs  im  his  face. 

Enttr  GoNZAGA,-  Ai>orni,  tmd  Gaoler. 

Gowjg.  There  be  is : 
I'll  not  enquire  by  whom  his  ransome's  pai^, 
1  am  satisfied  that  I  have  it; uor'allege 
One  reason  to  excuse  his  cruel  Usage, 
As  you  may  iiitei^pret  it' ;  let  it  suffice 
It  was  my  will  to  have  it  so.     He  is  yours  n*w, 
Dispose  of  him  as  you  please.  [Ej^if. 

Ador.  Holve'er  I  hate  biro, 
As  one  preferred  before  me,  bein^  a  man, 
He  docs  deserve  my  pity.  Sir  l---ne  sleeps  \^ 
^  Or  is  ht  dead  ?  wWild  he  were  a  saiiit  in  neitveu  \ 
'Tis  all  the  hurt  I  wish  hrm^*  But,  I  was  not 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  75 

Bom  to  such  happiness  [AsideJ^^Kneeh  bjfhim^l 

-7- — no,  he  breathes — cooie  uear^ 
And,  iFt  be  possible,  without  his  feeliqe, 
Take  off  his  irons. — [His  irons  taken  ^] — So  j 
now  leave  tis  private.  t^^^t  Gaoler. 

He  does  begin  to  stir ;  and,  as  transported 
With  a  joytVil  dream,  bow  he  stares !  and  feelf 

his  legs^ 
As  yet  uncertain  whether  it  can  be 
True  or  fantastical. 

Bert,  [rising.1  Ministers  of  mer^y, 
Mock  not  calamity.  Ha!  'tis  no  vision i 
Or,  if  it  be,  the  happiest  that  ever 
Appeared  to  sinful  flesh  1  Who's  here  ?  his  face 
Speaks  him  Adorni ; — but  some  glorious  aagel, 
Concealing  its  divinity  in  bis  shapes 
Hath  done  this  miracle,  it  beiag  not  an  act 
For  wolfish  man.  Resolve  me>  it  tbou  look'st  for 
Bent  knees  in  adoration  ?  > 

Ador.  O  forbear,  sir  ]    • 
I  an\  Adorni,  and  the  instrutnetit 
Of  your  deliverance ;  but  the  benefit 
You  owe  another. 

Bert.  If  be  has  a  nanoe. 
As  soon  9s  apoikea,  'tis  writ  on  my  h&tJ^t 
I  am  his  bondman, 

Ador.  To  the  Bbame  of  men^^ 
Tbi«  great  act  is  a  woman's. 

Bert.  The  whole  sex 
For  her  sake  must  be  deified.  Hov  I  iTand^ 
In  my  iaiagination,  yet  cannot 
Guess  who  this  phoenix  should  be  t 

Ador.  'Tifi  Camiola, 

Bertp  Fray  you,  speak't  again :  there's  music 
iQ  bet  name. 
Once  move,  I  ptty  you,  sir*     c 


•f6  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

/ 

Ador.  Camiola, 

The  MAID  OF  HONOUR.      ' 

Bert.  Curs*d  atheist  that  I  was, 
Only  to  doubt  it  could  be  any  other ; 
Since  she  alone,  in  the  abstract  of  herself, 
That  small,  but  ravishing  substance,  conr^prehend* 
Whatever  is,  or  can  be  wish'd,  in  the 
Idea  of  a  woman !  O  what  service, 
Or  sacrifice  of  duty,  can  I  pay  her, 
If  not  to  live  and  die  her  charity's  slave. 
Which  is  resolv'd  already  ! 

Ador.  She  expects  not 
Such -a  dominion  o'er  you  :  yet,  ere  I 
Deliver  her  demands,  give  me  your  hand  : 
On  this,  as  she  enjoiri'd  nie,  with  my  lips 
I  print  her  love  and  service,  bv  me  sent  you. 

Bert.  I  am  overwhelm 'd  with  wonder  ! 

Ador.  You  must  now* 
Which  is  the  sum  of  all  that  she  desires, 
By  a  solemn  contract  bind  yourself,  when  she 
Requires  it,  as  a -debt  due  for  your  freedom, 
To  marry  her,       «  ' 

Bert.  This  does  engage  me  further ; 
A  payment !  an  increase  of  obligation. 
To  marry  her  !— 'twas  my  ml  ultra  ever: 
The  end  of  my  ambition.    O  that  now 
The  holy  man,  she  present,  were  prepared 
To  join  our  hands,  but  with  that  speed  my  h^art 
Wishes  mine  eyes  might  see  hdr ! 

A^r.  You 'must  fl  wear  this. 

Bert.  Swear  it !  Collect  all  oaths  and  impre- 
cations, 
Whose  least  breach  is  damnation,  and  those 
Minister'd  to  tne  in  a  form  more  dreadful ; 
Set  heaven  and  hell  before  me,  Twill  take  them  : 
False  to  Camiola  !  never.-^Shall  I  now 
Begin  my' vows  to  you? 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


n 


Ador.  I  am  no  churchman  ; 
Such  a  one  must  file  it  on  record :  you  are  free ; 
And,  that  you  may  appear  like  to  yourself, 
(For  so  she  wished,)  here's  gold,  with  which  yott 

may 
Redeem  your  trunks  and  servants,  and  whatever 
Of  late  you  lost.    I  have  found  out  the  captain 
Whose  spoil  they  were ;  his  name  is  Roderigo, 

Bert.  I  know  him. 

Ador.  I  have  done  my  parts/ 

Bert.  So  much,  sir. 
As  I  am  ever  yours  for't.    Naw,  methinks, 
I  walk  in  air  !  Divine  Camiola—— 
But  words  cannot  express  thee :  111  build  to  thee 
An  altar  in  my  soul,  on  which  I'll  offer 
A  still-jencreafi^ng  sacrifice  of  duty.  {^^rit. 

Ador.  What  will  become  gf  menowi&apparent 
Whether  a  poniard  or  a  halter  be  ;  •. 
The  nearest  way  to  hell,  (for  I  must  thith^,  - 
After  I'v^  kiird;  myself,  y  is  somewhat. dorubtfut 
This  Roman  resolution  of  self-murder,-' ' 
Will  not  hold  water  at  the  high  tribunal. 
When  it  comes  to  be  argued  ;  my  good  Genios 
Prompts  me:  to  this  consideration.     He 
That  kills  himself  to  avoid  misery,  fears  it. 
And,  at  the  best,  shews  but  a  b^tard  valour«i> 
This  life's  a  fort  committed  to  my  trust, 
Which  I  must  not  yield  up  till  it  be  forced : 
Nor  will  I.     He's  not  valiant  that  dares^die, 
But  be. that  boldly  bears  calamity.       ;       [£LnV; 

^  Ador.  I  have  done  my  parts,]  There  is  tia  expression  inor« 
familiar  to  our  old  Writers  than  this:  yetMassinger's  editors,  in 
their  blind  rage  for  reformation,  perpetually  corrupt  it  into-— 
I  have  done  mg  p^t.'  '  Ador ni  had  studied  jn  a  better  aqlioot  than 
BertQldo.    Beiides  Plato^  he  iMd  lopli^d  iiitot  tkf^  ChristJiA 


78  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


SCENE  IV. 

The  same.    A  State-room  in  the  Palace. 
A  Flourish.  Enter  Pii:rio,  RoD£ai<}0|  Jacomq» 

GONZAGA,    AURELIA,    FeRPINAKD^  AsTVTIO, 

and  Attendants. 

Aurel.  A  seat  here  for  the  dake.  Itisourglorj 
To  overcome  with  courtesies,  not  rigour; 
The  lordly  Roman,  who  held  it  the  height 
Of  human  happiness  to  have  kings  and  queens 
To  vaitjby  his  triumphant  chariot*- wfaeels. 
In  his  insulting  prtdCi  deprived  hims^f 
Of  drawing  near  the  nature  of  the  gods,    • 
Best  known  for  such,  in  being  merciful. 
Yet,  give  me  leave,  but  still  with  gentle  language, 
And  with  the  freedom  of  a  friend,  to  tdl  you, 
To  seek  by  force,  what  courtship  could  nojt  win, 
Was  faarsh,and  never  taught  inLove'smiid  school. 
Wise  poets  feign  that  Venus'  coach  is  drawn 
By  doves  and  s{>arrows,  not  by  bears  and  tigers^ 
I  spare  the  apLplication/ 

Fer.  In  my  fortune, 
Heaven's  justice  hath  confirm'd  it;  yet,  gneat 

lady. 
Since  my  offence  grew  from  excess  of  love> 
And  not  to  be  resisted,  having  paid,  too, 
With  loss  of  liberty,  the  forfeiture 

'  - 

*  ^  lipare  the  appikiiNim.']  Goxe/ttr  oad  Mr.  M.Mtmn^rk 
Am  hemk^kb  to  F«rdiBAiid,  Md  so  inieed  does  ay  qnttrto :  att 
the  others  which  I  haTe  examined  make  it  concla^  j(mfeW% 
speeqh,  to  which  it  eridently  belongs. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  79 

Of  my  presumption,  in  your  clemency 
It  may  find  pardon. 

Aurel.  You  shall  have  just  cause 
To  say  it  bath.    The  charge  of  the  long  siege 
Defrayed,  and  the  loss  my  subjects  have  sustained 
Made  good,  since  so  far  I  must  deal  with  caution, 
You  have  your  liberty. 

Fer.  I  could  not  hope  for 
Gentler  conditions. 

AurcL  My  lord  Gonzaga, 
Since  my  coming  to  Sienna,  ]['ve  heard  much  of 
Your  prisoner,  brave  Ber toldo; 

Gonz.  Such  an  one, 
Madam,  I  had. 

Ast.  Arid  have  still,  sir,  I  hope. 

Gcnz.  Your  hopes  deceive  you.    He  is  ran* 
domed,  madam* 

Ast.  By  whom,  I  pray  you,  sir  ? 

Gonz.   10 u  had  best  enquire 
Of  your  intelligencer :  I  am  no  infbrmen 

Ast.  I  like  not  this.  {Aridi. 

Aurel.  He  is,  as  'tis  reported, 
A  goodly  gentleman,  and  of  nobie  parts ; 
A  brother  of  your  onder. 

Ganz.  He  was,  madam, 
Till  he,  against  his  oath,  wronged  yon,  a  prmcesS| 
Which  his  religipn  bound  him  from. 

Aurel.  Great  minds, 
For  trial  of  their  valours,  oft  maintain 
Quarrels  that  are  unjurt,  yet  without  mafi*e  j 
And  such  a  fair  construction  I  make  of  hint : 
I  would  see  that  brave  enemy. 

Gonz.  My  duty 
Commands  me  to  seek  for  hirti. 

# 

Aurd.  Pray  you  do ;  ♦ 

And  bring  him  to  our  presence.    \SxitiJronzaga, 
Ast.  I  must  blast 


60 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


His  entertainment.  lAside.]    May  it  please  ydur 

excellency,    > 
He  is  a  man  debauch'd,  and,  for  his  riots, 
Cast  off  by  the  king  my  master ;  and  that,  I  hope,iflr 
A  crime  sufficient* 

Fer.  To  you,  his  subjects, 
That  like  as  your  king  likes, 

Aurel.  But  not  to  us ; 
We  must  weigh  with  our  own  scale. 

Re-enter  Gonzaga,  with  Bertoldo  richly  habited, 

and  Adorki. 

This  is  he,  sure. 
How  soon  mine  eye  had  found  him !  whataport 
He  bears  !  how  well  his  bravery  becomes,  him  ! 
A  prisoner  !  nay,  a  princely  suitor,  rather ! 
But  I'm  too  sudden.  [A9ide. 

Gonz.  Madam,  'twas  his  suit, 
Unsent  for,  to  present  his  service  to  you, 
.£re  hiis  departure. 

AureL  With  what  majesty 
He  bears  himself!  lAside. 

Ast.  The  devil,  I  think,  supplies  him. 
Ransomed,  and  thus  rich  too  ! 

Aurel.  You  ill  deserve. 

[Bertoldo  kneeling^  kisses  her  hand. 

The  favour  of  our  hand we  are  not  well, 

Give  us  more  air.  [Descends  suddenly. 

Gonz.  What  sudden  qualm  is  this  ?  . 

Aurel.  —  That  lifted  yours  against  me. 

Bert.  Thus,  once  more, 
I  sue  for  pardon. 

Aurel.  Sure  his  lips  are  poisonM, 
And  through  these  veins  force  passage  to  my 

heart. 
Which  is  already  seized  on.  .  [Aside. 


THE  MAID  OF  honour;  81 

Bert.  I  wait,  madam, 
To  know  what  your  commatids  are ;  my  designs 
Exact  me  in  another  place. 

Aurel.  Before 
You  have  our  license  to  depart!  If  manners^ 
Civility  of  manners,  cannot  teacK  you 
To  attend  our  leisure,  I  must  tell  you,  sir. 
That  you  are  still  our  prisoner ;  nor  had  you 
Commission  to  free  him. 

Gonz.  How's  this,  madam  ?  ' 

AureL  You  were  my  substitute,  and  wanted 
power, 
Without  my  warrant,  to  dispose  of  him  : 
I  will  pay  back  his  ransome  ten  times  over, 
Rather  than  quit  my  interest.. 

Beri.  This  is 
Against  the  law  of  arms. . 

Aurel.  But  not  of  love.  -  [Aside. 

Why,  hath  your  entertainment,  sir,  been  such, 
In  your  restraint,  that,  with  the  wings  of  fear, 
You  would  fly  from  it  ? 

Bert,  r  know  no  man,  madam, 
Enamoured  of  his  fetters,  or  delighting 
In  cold  or.  hunger,  or  that  would  in  reason 
Prefer  straw  i  n  a  d  ungeon,  before 
A  down-^bed  in  a  palace. 

Aureli^How  ! — Come  nearer : 
Was  iiis  usage  such  ? 

Gonz.  Yes ;  and  it  had  been  worse, 
Had  I  forseen  this. 

Aurel.  O  thou  mis- shaped  monster  ! 
In  thee  it  is  confirmed,  that  such  as  have 
No  share  in  nature's  bounties,  know  no  pity 
To  such  as  have  them.  Look  on  him  withrmy  eyes. 
And  answer,,  then,  whether.thia  were  a  man 
'  Whose  cheeks  of  lovely  fulness  should  be  mad^ 
A  prey  to  meagre  famine  ?  or  these;. eyes,. 


82  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR^ 

Who8€  every  glance  store  Cupid's  emptied  quiver, 
To  be  difnm'd  with  tedious  watching?  or  these 

lips, 
These  ruddy  lips,  of  whose  fresh  colour  cherries 
And  roses  were  but  copies,  should' grow  pale 
For  want  of  nectar  ?  or  these  legs,  that  oear 
A  burthen  of  more  worth  than  is  supported 
By  Atlas'  wearied  shoulders,  should  be  cramp'd 
With  the  weight  of  iron  ?  O,  I  could  dwell  ever 
On  this  description  t 

Bert.  Is  this  in  derision, 
Or  pity  of  me? 

AureL  In  your  charity 
Believe  me  innocent.  Now  you  are  my  prisoner. 
You  shall  have  fairer  quarter  ?  you  will  shan)ie 
The  place  where  you  have  been,  should  you  now 

leave  it. 
Before  you  are*recover'd.  I'll  conduct  you 
To  more  convenient  lodgings,  and  it  shall  be 
My  care  to  cherish  you.  Repine  who  dare ; 
It  is  our  will.  You'll  follow  me  ? 

Bert.  To  the  centre, 
Such  a  Sybilla  guiding  me. 

[Eweunt  Aurelia,  Bertoldo^  and  Attendant. 

Gonz.  Who  speaks  first  ? 

Fer.  We  stand  as  we  had  seen  Medusa's  head* 

Pkr.  I  know  not  what  to  think,  I  am  so  amazed. 

Rod.  Amazed  I  I  am  thunderstruck* 

Jac.  We  are  enchanted. 
And  this  is  some  illusion. 
.  Ador^  Heaven  forbid  ! 
In  dark  despair  it  shews  a  beam  of  hope : 
Contain  thy  joy,  Adomi.  [AMt. 

Ast^  Such  a  princess. 
And  of  so  lqng«experienced  reserv'dness. 
Break  forth,  and  on  the  sudden,  into  flashes 
Of  more  thaji  doubted  looseness  i 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  83 

Gonz.  They  come  again, 
Smiling,  as  I  live !  his  arm  circling  her  waist.  . 
1  shall  run  mad : — Some  fury  hath  possess^  her 
If  I  speak,  I  may  be  blasted.     Ha  1  I'll  mumble 
A  prayer  or  two,  and  cross  myself,  and  then, 
Though  the  devil  fart  fire,  have  at  him. 

Re-enter  Bertoldo,  and  Aubexia. 

AurcL  Let  not,  sir,  i . 
The  violence  of  my  passion  nourish  in  yoi| 
An  ill  opinion  ;  or,  grant  my  carriage 
Out  of  the  road  and  garb  of  private  women^ 
'Tis  still  done  with  decorum.     As  I  am 
A  princess^  what  I  do  is  above  censurci 
And  to  l>e  imitated. 

Bert.  Gracious  madam, 
Vouchsafe  a  little  pause ;  for  I  am  so  rapt 
Beyond  myself,  that,  till  I  have  collected 
My  scattered  faculties,  I  cannot  tender 
My  resolution.  ' 

Aurel.  Consider  of  it, 
I  will  not  be  long  from  you. 

[Bertoldo  walks  by  mmng. 

Gont.  Pray  I  cannot, 
This  cursed  object  strangles  my  devotion : 
I  must  speak,  or  I  buiBt.— Pray  you,  fair  lady, 
If  you  can,  in  courtesy  direct  me  to 
The  chaste  Aurelia. 

AurcL  Are  you  blind  ?  who  are  we  ? 

Gonz.  Anotner  kind  of  thing«     Her  blood  was 
governed 
By  her  discretion,  and  not  ruled  her  reason : 
The  reverence  and  majesty  of  Juno 
Shined  in  her  looks,  and,  coming  to  the  camp, 
'Appear'd  a  second  Pallas.  I  can  see 
No  such  divinities  in  you :  if  I,    . 


64  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Without  offence,  may  speak  my  thoughts,  you  arc, 
As  'twere,  a  wanton  Helen. 

Aurd.  Good  !  ere  long 
You  shall  know  me  better. 

Gohz.  Why,  if  you  are  Aurelia, 
How  shall  I  dispose  of  the  soldier  ? 

Ast.  May  it  please  you 
To  hasten  my  dispatch  ? 

Aurel,  Prefer  your  suits 
Unto  Bertoldo ;  we  will  give  him  hearing. 
And  youll  find  him  your  best  advocate.     [EsiL 

Ast.  This  is  rare  ! 

Gonz.  What  are  We  come  to  ? 

Rod.  Grown  up  in  a  moment 
A  favourite ! 

Ferd.  He  does  take  statb  already. 

Bert.  No,  no ;  it  cannot  be : — ^yet,  but  Camiola, 
There  is  no  step  between  me  and  a  crown. 
Then  my  ingratitude  !  a  sin  in  which 
All  sins  are  comprehended  !  Aid  me.  Virtue, 
Or  I  am  lost. 

Gonz,  May  it  please  your  excellence 

Second  me,'  sir. 

Bert.  Then  my  so  horrid  oaths, 
And  hell-deep  imprecations  made  against  it ! 

Ast.  The  king,  your  brother,  will  thank  you 
for  the  advancement 
Of  his  affairs. 

Bert.  And  yet  who  can  hold  out 
Against  such  batteries  as  her  power  and  greatness 
Raise  up  against  my  weak  defences ! 

Gohz.  Sir, 

Re-enter  Aurelia. 

Do  you  dream  waking?  'Slight,  she's  here  again  ! 
Walks  she  on  woollen  feet !  * 

*  Walks  site  on  xoooUen/eet  /]    These  words  are  certainly  part 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  85 

Aurel.  You  dwell  too  long 
.In  your  deliberation,  and  come  , 
With  a  cripple's  pace  to  that  which  you  should 
fly  to, 

Bert.  It  is  confessed  :  yet  why  should  I,  to  win 
From  you,  that  hazard  all  to  my  poor  nothing, 
By  false  play  send  you  off  a  loser  from  me  ? 
I  am  already  too,  too  much  engaged 
To  the  king  my  brother's  anger ;  and  who  knows 
But  that  his  doubts  and  politic  fears,  should  you 
Make  me  his  equal,  may  draw  war  upon 
Your  territories  ?  Were  that  breach  made  up, 
I  should  with  joy  embrace  what  now  I  fear 
To  touch  but  with  due  reverence. 

Aurel.  That  hinderancc 
Is  easily  removed.    I  owe  the  king 
For  a  royal  visit,  which  I  straight  wjU  pay  him  ; 
And  having  first  reconciled  you  to  his  favour, 
A  dispensation  shall  meet  with  us. 

Bert.  I  am  wholly  yours. 

Aurel.  On  this  book  seal  it. 

Gonz.  What,  hand  and  lip  too  I   then  the  bar- 
gain's sure. 

You  have  no  employment  for  me  ? 

Aurel.  Yes,  Gonzaga; 
Provide  a  royal  ship. 

Gonz.  A  ship  !  St.  John, 
Whither  are  we  bound  now  ? 

Aurel.  You  shall  know  hereafter. 
My  lord,  your  pardon,  for  my  too  much  trenching 
Upon  your  patience. 

of-  Gonzaga's  speech,  who  is  surprised  at  the  sudden  return  of 
Aurelia ;  they  would  come  strangely  fromBertoldo,  in  the' midst 
of  his  meditations.    M.  Mason. 

.  The  expression  is  classical,  {lanti  pcdes^)  hut  does  not  hear  the 
classical  sense..  How  Massinger  understood  it,  I  cannot  tell; 
perhaps,  as  eqoiTalent  to  motipn  without  noise* 
VOL.  Ill,  *  H 


85 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


[Aside  to  Bertoldo. 


Ador.  Camiola ! 

Aurel.  How  do  you  ? 

Bert.  Indisposed ;  but  I  attend  you. 

[Ej^'eunt  all  hut  Adorni. 

Ador.  The  heavy  curse  that  waits  on  perjury, 
And  foul  ingratitude,  pursue  thee  ever  ! 
Yet  why  from  me  this  ?  in  his  breach  of  faith 
My  loyalty  finds  reward :  what  poisons  him, 
Proves  mithridate  to  me.    I  have  perform'd 
All  she  commanded,  punctually;  and  now, 
In  the  clear  mirror  of  my  truth,  she  may 
Behold  his  falsehood.    O  that  I  had  wings 
To  bear  me  to  Palermo  !  This  once  known, 
Must  change  her  love  into  a  just  disdain, 
And  work  her  to  compassion  of  my  pain.    {Eait. 


.SCENE  V. 

Palermo.    A  Room  in  Camiola's  House. 

Enter  Sylli,  Camiola,  flfwrfCLARiNDA,  at 

several  doors. 

SyL  Undone !  undone  ! — poor  I,  that  whilome 
was 
The  top  and  ridge  of  my  house,  am,  on  the  sudden, 
Turn'd  to  the  pitifullest  animal 
O'  the  lineage  of  the  Syllis  ! 

Cam.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Syl.  The  king — break,  girdle,  break  ! 

Cam.  Why,  w^hat  of  him  ? 

SyL  Hearing  how  far  you  doated  on  my  person. 
Growing  envious  of  my  happiness,  and  knowing  . 
His  brother,  nor  his  favounte,  Fulgentio, 
Could  get  ia  sheep's  eye  from  you,  I  being  present. 
Is  come  himself  a  suitor,  with  the  awl 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  87 

Of  his  authority  to  bore  my  nose, 
And  take  you  from  me — Oh,  oh,  oh  ! 

Cam.   Do  not  roar  so : 
The  king ! 

SyL  The  king.    Yet  loving  Sylli  is  not 
So  sorry  for  his  own,  as  your  misfortune  ; 
If  the  king  should  carry  you,  or  you  bear  him, 
What  a  loser  should  you  be !  He  can  but  make 

you 
A  queen,  and  what  a  simple  thing  is  that. 
To  the  being  my  lawful  spouse !  the  world  can 

never 
Afford  you  such  a  husband* 

Cam.  I  believe  you. 
But  how  are  you  sure  the  king  is  so  inclined  ? 
Did  not  you  dream  this  ? 

SyL  With  these  eyes  I  saw  him 
Dismiss  his  train,  and  lighting  from  his  coach, 
Whispering  Fulgentio  in  the  ear. 

Cam.  If  so, 
I  guess  the  business. 

SyL  It  can  be  no  other, 
But  to  gite  me  the  bob,  that  being  a  matter 
Of  main  importance.  Yonder  they  are ;  I  dare  not 

Enter  Roberto,  and  Fuloentio. 

Be  seen,  I  am  so  desperate :.  if  you  forsake  me, 
Send  me  word,  that  I  may  provide  a  willow  gar- 
land. 
To  wear  when  I  drown  myself.    O  Sylli,  Sylli ! 

[Ejnt  crying. 
FuL  It  will  be  worth  your  pains,  sir,  to  observe 
The  constancy  and  bravery  of  her  spirit. 
Though  great  men  tremble  at  your  frowns,  I  dare 
Hazard  my  head,  your  majesty,  set  oflF 
With  terror,  cannot  fright  her. 

♦H2 


88  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Rob.  May  she  answer 
My  expectation !  [Aside. 

FuL  There  she  is. 

Cam.  My  knees  thus 
Bent  to  the  earth,  while  my  vows  are  sent  upward 
For  the  safety  of  my  sovereign^  pay  the  duty 
Due  for  so  great  an  honour,  in  this  favour 
Done  to  your  humblest  handmaid. 

Rob.  You  mistake  me ; 
I  come  not,  lady,  that  you  may  report 
The  king,  to  do  you  honour,  made  your  house 
(He being  there)  his  court;  but  to  correct 
Your  stubborn  disobedience.    A  pardon 
For  that,  could  you  obtain  it,  were  well  purchased 
With  this  humility. 

Cam.  A  pardon,  sir  ! 
Till  I  am  conscious  of  an  offence, 
I  will  not  wrong  my  innocence  to  beg  one. 
What  is  my  crime,  sir  ? 

Rob.  Look  on  him  I  favour, 
By  you  scorn'd  and  neglected/  « 

Cam.  Is  that  all,  sir  ? 

Rob.  No,  minion ;  though  that  were  too  much. 
How  can  you 
Answer  the  setting  on  your  desperate  bravo  - 
To  murder  him  ? 

Cam.  With  your  leave,  I  must  not  kneel,  sir. 
While  I  reply  to  this  :  but  thus  rise  up 
In  my  defence,  and  tell  you,  as  a  man, 
(Since,  when  you  are  unjust,  the  deity. 
Which  you  may  challenge  as  a  king,  parts  from 
you,) 

7  Rob.  Look  on  him  I  favour^ 

By  you  scortCd  and  neglected,]  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason, 
in  defiance  of  metre  and  sense : 

Rob.  Look  on  km  I  favour, 
y oil  scorn'd  <jr^.         / 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  ^9 

'Twas  never  read  in  holy  writ,  or  moral, 
That  subjects  on  their  loyalty  M^ere  obliged 
To  love  their  sovereign's  vices ;  your  grace,  sir> 
To  such  an  undeserver  is  no  virtue. 

FuL  What  think  you  now,  sir  ? 
Cam.  Say,  you  should  love  wine, 
You  being  the  king,  and,  'cause  I  am  yoursubject. 
Must  I  be  ever  drunk  ?  Tyrants,  not  kings, 
Bv  violence,  from  humble  vassals  force 
Tne  liberty  of  their  souls.  I  dould  not  love  him ; 
And  to  compel  affection,  as  I  take  it, 
Is  not  found^in  your  prerogative. 

Koh.  Excellent  virgin ! 
How  I  admire  her  confidence  !  \A^dt. 

Cam.  He  complains 
Of  wrong  done  him  :  but,  be  no  more  a  king, 
Unless  you  do  me.  right.    Burn  your  decrees, 
And  of  your  laws  and  statutes  make  a  fire 
To  thaw  the  frozen  numbness  of  delinquents. 
If  he  escape  unpunish'd.    Do  your  edicts 
Call  it  death  in  any  man  that  breaks  into 
Another's  house,  to  rob  him,  though  of  trifles ; 
And  shall  Fulgentio,  your  Fulgentio,  live. 
Who  hath  committed  more  than  sacrilege. 
In  the  pollution  of  my  clear  fame, 
By  his  malicious  slanders  ? 

Roh.  Have  you  done  this  ? 
Answer  truly,  on  your  life. 

Ful.  In  the  heat  of  blood, 
Some  such  thing  I  reported. 

Roh.  Out  of  my  sight ! 
For  I  vow,  if  by  true  penitence  thou  win  not 
This  injured  virgin'  to  sue  out  thy  pardon, 
Thy  grave  is  digg'd  already. 

^  This  injured  Tirgin  to  sue  out  thy  pardon^    I  have  alread j 
obserred  that  there  is  but  one  edition  of  this  play ;  the  copies^ 


/^ 


90 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 


Fid.  By  my  own  folly 
I  have  made  a  fair  hand  oPt.       [Aside,  and  exit. 
\    Rob.  You  shall  know,  lady, 
While  I  wear  a  crown,  justice  shall  use  her  sword 
To  cut  offenders  oif,  though  nearest  to  us. 

Cam.  Ay,  now  you  shew  whose  deputy  you  are : 
If  now  I  bathe  your  feet  with  tears,  it  cannot 
Be  censured  superstition. 

Rob.  You  must  rise ; 
Rise  in  our  favour  and  protection  even 

[Kisses  her. 

Cam.  Happy  are  subjects,  when  the  prince  is 
still 
Guided  by  justice,  not  his  passionate  will. 

[^Exeunt. 


ACT  V.    SCENE  L 

The  same.    A  Room  in  Camiola's  Hpuse. 

Enter  Camiola  and  Sylli. 

Cam.  You  see  how  tender  I  am  of  the  quiet 
And  peace  of  your  affection,  and  what  great  ones 
J  put  off  in  your  favour. 

SyL  You  do  wisely. 
Exceeding  wisely  ;  and,  when  I  have  said, 
I  thank  you  for't,  be  happy. 

however,  vary  considerably.  In  this  line,  for  example,  some  of 
them  read  virgin^  some  lady^  and  some  omit  the  word  altogether* 
In  these  cases  nothing  remains  for  an  editor,  but  to  make  use 
of  his  judgment,  and  select  that  which  appears  the  leas^  Qb« 
jectionable. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  51 

Cam,  And  good  reason, 
In  havin;^  such  a  blessing, 

SyL  When  you  have  it ; 
But  the  bait  is  not  yet  ready.    Stay  the  time, 
While  I  triumph  by  myself.    King,  by  your  leave, 
I  have  wiped  your  royal  nose  without  a  napkin; 
You  may  cry,  fVillow^  wilhw  t  for  your  brother, 
I'll  only  say.  Go  by!^  for  my  fine  favourite. 
He  may  graze  where  he  please ;  his  lips  may  water 
Like  a  puppy's  o'er  a  furmenty  pot,  while  Sylli, 
Out  of  his  two-leaved  cherry-stone  dish,  drinks 

nectar ! 
I  cannot  hold  out  any  longer ;  heaven  forgive 

me ! 
Tis  not  the  first  oath  I  have  broke ;  I  must  take 
A  little  for  a  preparative. 

\Pffers  to  kiss  and  embrace  her. 

Cam.  By  no  means. 
If  you  forswear  yourself,  we  shall  not  prosper : 
I'll  rather  lose  my  longing. 

Syl.  Pretty  soul !  ,.. 

How  careful  it  is  of  me  I  'let  me  buss  yet 
Thy  little  dainty  foot  for't :  that,  I'm  sure,  is 
Out  of  my  oath. 


'for  your  brother j 


Til  only  say^  Go  bj !]  This  is  an  allusion  to  the  Spanish 
Tragedy ;  the  constant  butt  of  all  the  writers  of  those  tinjies, 
who  seem  to  be  a  little  uneasj,  notwithstanding  their  scoffs,  at 
its  popularity.  Old  Jeronimo^  howerer,  kept  his  ground  till- 
the  general  convulsion*  when  he  sunk,  with  a  thousand  better 
things,  to  rise  no  more. 

What  hold  he  once  had  of  the  public  mind  may  be  collected 
from  an  anecdote  in  that  strange  medley  by  Prynne,  which,  by 
the  way,  contains  more  ribaldry  in  a  few  pages,  than  is  to  be 
found  in  half  the  plays  which  he  reprobates.  He  there  tells  us  of 
a  lady  who,  on  her  death-bed,  instead  of  attending  to  the  priest, 
^^  cried  out  nothing  but  Jeronimo !  Jeronimo  V* — and  died  in 
this  reprobate  state,  ^*  thinking^  of  nothing  bat  plays." 

MistrmMttist. 


*•  -.. 


92  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR- 

Cam.  Why,  if  thou  canst  dispense  with*t 
So  far,  I'll  not  be  scrupulous ;  such  a  favour 
My  amorous  shoe-maker  steals. 

Syl.  O  most  rare  leather !  [Kisses  her  shoe  of  ten. 
I  do  begin  at  the  lowest,  but  in  time 
I  may  grow  higher. 

Cam.  Fie !  you  dwell  too  long  there  : 
Rise,  prithee  rise. 

Syl.  O,  I  am  up  already. 

Enter  Clarinda  hastily. 

Cam.  How  I  abuse  my  hours! — ^What  news 
with  thee,  now  ? 

Clar.  Off  with  that  gown,  *tis  mine ;  mine  by 
your  promise : 
Signior  Adorni  is  retum'd  !  now  upon  entrance ! 
Off  with  it,  off  with  it,  madam  ! 

Cam.  Be  not  so  hasty  : 
When  I  go  to  bed,  'tis  thine. 

Syl.  You  have  my  grant  too ; 
But,  do  you  hear,  lady,  though  I  give  way  to 

this, 
You  must  hereafter  ask  my  leave,  before 
You  part  with  things  of  moment. 

Cam.  Very  good ; 
When  Fm  yours  I'll  be  govem'd. 

Syl.  Sweet  obedience ! 

Enter  Adorni. 

Cam.  You  are  well  return'd. 
Ador.  I  wish  that  the  success 
Of  my  service  had  deserved  it. 
Cam.  Lives  Bertoldo  ? 
Ador.  Yes,  and  return'd  with  safety. 
Cam.  Tis  not  then 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  93 

In  the  power  of  fate  to  add  to,  or  take  from 
My  perfect  happiness ;  and  yet — he  should 
Have  made  me  his  first  visit. 

Ador.  So  I  think  too ; 
But  he 

St/l  Durst  not  appear,  I  being  present ; 
That's  his  excuse,  I  warrant  you. 

Cam.  Speak,  virhere  is  he  ? 
With  whom  ?  who  hath  deserved  more  from  him  ? 

or 
Can  be  of  equal  merit  ?  I  in  this 
Do  not  except  the  king. 

Ador.  He's  at  the  palace. 
With  the  dutchess  of  Sienna.  One  coach  brought 

them  hither, 
Without  a  third  :  he's  very  gracious  with  her; 
You  may  conceive  the  rest. 

Cam.  My  jealous  fears 
Make  me  to  apprehend. 

Ador.  Pray  you,  dismiss 
Signior  Wisdom,  and  I'll  make  relation  to  you 
Of  the  particulars. 

Cam.  Servant,  I  would  have  you 
To  haste  unto  the  court. 

Syl.  I  will  outrun 
A  footman  for  your  pleasure. 

Cam.  There  observe 
The  dutchess'  train,  and  entertainment. 

SyL  Fear  not ; 
I  will  discover  all  that  is  of  weight. 
To  the  liveries  of  her  pages  arid  her  footmen. 
This  is  fit  employmeiit  for  me.  ,    [£jfiV. 

Cam.  Gracious  with 
The  dutchess  !  sure,  you  said  so  ? 

Ador.  I  will  use 
All  possible  brevity  to  inform  you,  madam. 


5+  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Of  what  was  trusted  to  me,  and  discharged 
With  faith  and  loyal  duty. 

Cam.  I  believe  it ; 
You  ransomed  him,  and  supplied  his  wants — 

imagine 
That  is  already  spoken ;  and  what  vows 
Of  service  he  made  to  me,  is  apparent ; 
His  joy  of  me,  and  wonder  too,  perspicuous ; 
Does  not  your  story  end  so  ? 

Ador.  Would  the  end 
Had  answered  the  begitining  ! — In  a  word,  . 
Ingratitude  and  perjury  at  the  height 
Cannot  express  him. 

Cam.  Take  heed. 

Ador.  ♦Truth  is  arm'd, 
And  can  defend  itself.    It  must  out,  madam  : 
I  saw  (the  presence  full)  the  amorous  dutchess 
Kiss  and  embrace  him ;  on  his  part  accepted 
With  equal  ardour ;  and  their  willing  hands 
No  sooner  join'd,  but  a  remove  was  published. 
And  put  in  execution. 

Cam.  The  proofs  are 
Too  pregnant.    O  Bertoldo  ? 

Ador.  He*s  not  worth 
Your  sorrow,  madam. 

Cam.  Tell  me,  when  you  saw  this, 
Did  not  you  grieve,  as  i  do  now  to  hear  it  ? 

Ador.  Hisf  precipice  from   goodness  raising 
mine. 
And  serving  as  a  foil  to  set  my  faith  oif, 
I  had  little  reason. 

Cam.  In  this  you  confess 
The  devilish  malice  of  your  disposition. 
As  you  were  a  man,  you  stood  bound  to  lament  it ; 
And  not,  in  flattery  of  your  false  hopes, 
To  glory  in  iU   When  good  men  pursue 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR-  94 

The  path  inark'4  out  by  virtue,  the  blest  saint 
With  joy  look  on  it,  and  seraphic  angels 
Clap  their  celestial  wings  in  heavenly  plaudits, 
To  see  a  scene  of  grace  so  well  presented, 
The  fiends,  and  men  made  up  of  envy,  mourning* 
Whereas  now,  on  the  contrary,  as  far 
As  their  divinity  can  partake  of  passion. 
With  me  they  weep,  beholding  a  fair  temple, 
Built  in  Bertoldo's  loyalty,  turn'd  to  ashes 
By  the  flames  of  his  inconstancy,  the  damned 
Bejoicing  in  the  object. — Tis  not  well 
In  you,  Adol'ni. 

Ador.  What  a  temper  dwells 
In  this  rare  virgin  !  [Aside.']  Can  you  pity  him. 
That  hath  shewn  none  to  you  ? 

Cam.  I  must  not  be 
Cruel  by  his  example.    You,  perhaps, 
Expect  now  I  should  seek  recovery 
Of  what  I  have  lQAt,l)y  tears,  and  with  bent  knees 
Beg  his  cpmpassion.    No ;  my  towering  virtue, 
From  the  assurance  of  my  merit,  scorns 
To  stoop  so  low.    rU  take  a  nobler  course, 
And,  confident  in  the  justice  of  vsxy  cause, 
The  king  his  brother,  and  new  mistress,  judges^ 
Ravish  him  from  her  arms.  You  have  the  contract^ 
In  which  he  swore  to  marry  me  ? 

Ador.  'Tis  here,  madam. 

C<im*  He  shall  be,  then,  against  his  will,  my 
husband ; 
And  when  I  have  him,  I'Uspusehim ! — Doubt  notj^ 
But  that,  your  honesty  being  unquestioned, 
This  writing,  with  your  testimony,  clears  all. 

Ador.  And  buries  me  in  the  dark  mists  of  error. 

Cam.  ril  presently  to  court;  pray  you,  give 
order 
For  my  caroch.* 

*  JPor  my  catoch.]   It  leeini  as  U  MaMioger^t  editors  wert 


06  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

jidor.  A  cart  fo^  me  were  fitter, 
To  hurry  roe  to  the  gallows.        [Aside,  andcML 

Cam.  O  false  men  I 
Inconstant !  perjured  !  My  good  angel  help  me^ 
In  these  my  extremities ! 

Re-enter  Sylli. 

Syl.  If  you  e'er  will  see  brave  sight, 
Lose  it  not  now.    Bertoldo  and  the  dutchess 
Are  presently  to  be  married  :  there's  such  pomp. 
And  preparation ! 

Cam.  If  I  marry,  *tis 
This  day,  or  never. 

SyL  Why,  with  all  my  heart ; 
Though  I  break  this,  I'll  keep  the  next  oath  I 

make. 
And  then  it  is  quit. 

Cam.  Follpw  me  to  my  cabinet ; 
You  know  my  confessor,  father  Paulo  ? 

SyL  Yes :  shall  he 
Do  the  feat  for  us  ? 

Cam.  I  will  give  in  writing 
Directions  to  him,  and  attire  myself 
Like  a  virgin  bride ;  and  something  I  will  do. 
That  shall  deserve  men's  praise,  and  wonder  too^ 

Syl.  And  I,  to  make  all  know  I  am  not  shallow. 
Will  have  my  points  of  cochineal  and  yellow. 

[E^veunt. 

Ignorant  of  the  existence  or  meaning  of  such  a  word  as  caroeh; 
since  they  exchange  it  for  coach^  though  it  inTariably  destroy* 
the  metre. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  97 


SCENE  n. 

The  same.    A  Staterroom  in  the  Palace, 

Loud  music.  Enter  Roberto,  Bertoldo,  Au- 
RELiA,  Ferdinand,  Astutio,  Gonzaga,  Ro* 
DERiGO,  Jacoho,  PiERio,  a  Bishop,  and  Attend' 
ants. 

Rob.  Had  our  division  been  greater,  madam, 
Your  clemency,  the  wrong  being  done  to  you, 
In  pardon  of  it,  like  the  rod  of  concord, 
Must  make  a  perfect  union. — Once  more. 
With  a  brotherly  affection,  we  receive  you 
Into  our  favour :  let  it  be  your  study 
Hereafter  to  deserve^this  blessing,  far 
Beyond  your  merit 

J3ert.  As  th^  princess*  grace 
To  me  is  without  limit,  my  endeavours. 
With  all  obsequiousness  to  serve  her  pleasures. 
Shall  know  no  bounds :  nor  will  I,  being  made 
Her  husband,  e'er  forget  the  duty  that    v 
I  owe  her  as  a  servant. 

AureL  I  expect  not     ,  , 

But  fair  equality,  since  I  well  kno^, 
If  that  superiority  be  due, 
Tis  not  to  me.   When  you  are  made  my  consort. 
All  the  prerogatives  of  my  high  birth  cancell'd, 
I'll  practice  the  obedience  of  a  wife. 
And  freely  ,pay  it.    Queens  themselves,  if  they 
Make  choice  of  their  inferiors,  only  aiming 
To  feed  their  sensual  appetites,  a,na  to  rqiga 
Over  their  husban.ds,  in  some  kind  commit 
Authorized  whoredom  ;  nor  will  I  be  guilty^, 
In  my  intent,  of  such  a  crime. 


98  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Gonz.  This  done. 
As  it  is  promised,  madam,  may  well  stand  for 
A  precedent  to  great  women  :  but,  when  once 
The  griping  hunger  of  desire  is  cloy'd, 
And  the  poor  fool  advanced,  brought  on  his  kneesj 
Most  of  your  eagle  breed,  I'll  not  say  all, 
Ever  excepting  you,  challenge  again 
What,  in  hot  blood,  they  parted  from. 

AureL  You  are  ever 
An  enemy  of  our  sex ;  but  you,  I  hope,  sir, 
Have  better  thoughts. 

Bert.  I  dare  not  entertain 
An  ill  one  of  your  goodness. 

Rob.  To  my  power 
I  will  enable  him,  to  prevent  all  danger 
Envy  can  raise  against  your  choice.    One  word 

more 
Touching  the  articles. 

-Ewfer  Fulgent  10,  Camiola,  Sylli,  and 

Adorni. 

FuL  In  you  alone 
Lie  all  my  hopes ;  you  can  or  kill  or  save  me ; 
But  pity  in  you-^ill  become  you  better 
(Though  I  confess  in  justice  'tis  denied  m^) 
Than  too  much  rigour. 

Cam.  I  will  make  your  peace 
As  far  as  it  lies  in  me ;  but  must  first 
Labour  to  right  myself. 

AureL  Or  add  or  alter  ^ 
What  you  think  fit ;  in  him  I  have  my  all : 
Heaven  make  me  thankful  for  him  ! 

Rob.  On  to  the  temple. 

Cam'^  Stay,  royal  sir;  and  as  you  are  a  king, 
Erect  btie*  here,  in  doing  justice  to 
An  injured  maid. 

*  Erect  oue  £^f ,]  i.  e.  a  temple.    M.  Mason. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR, 


99 


Aurel.  How's  this  ? 
Bert.  O,  I  am  blasted  ! 

Rob.  I  have  given  son\e  proof,  sweet  lady,  of 
my  promptness 
To  do  you  right,  you  need  not,  therefore,  doubt 

me; 
And  rest  assured,  that,  this  great  work  dispatched, 
You  shall  have  audience,  and  satisfaction 
To  all  you  can  demand. 

Cam.  To  do  me  justice 
Exacts  yqpr  present  care,  and  can  admit 
Of  no  delay.    If,  ere  my  cause  be  heard, 
In  favour  of  your  brother  yoii  go  on,  sir. 
Tour  sceptre  cannot  right  me.    He*s  the  man. 
The  guilty  man,  whom  I  accuse ;  and  you 
Stand  bound  in  duty,  as  yoii  are  supreme. 
To  be  impartial.    Since  you  are  a  judge. 
As  a  delinquent  look  on  him,  and  not 
As  on  a  brother :  Justice  painted  blind. 
Infers  her  ministers  are  obliged  to  hear 
The  cause,  and  truth,  the  judge,  determine  of  it ; 
And  not  swayed  or  by  favour  or  affection. 
By  a  false  gloss,  or  wrested  comment,  alter 
The  true  intent  and  letter  of  the  law. 
.  Rob.  Nor  will  I,  madam. 
Aurel.  You  seem  troubled,  sir.       '*  * 
Gonz.  His  colour  changes  too. 
Cam.  The  alteration 
Grows  from  his  guilt.  The  goodness  of  my  cause 
Begets  such  confidence  in  me,  that  I  bring 
No  hired  tongue  to  plead  for  me,  that  with  gay 
Rhetorical  flour^ishes  may  palliate 
That  which,  stripp'd  naked,  will  appear  deform*d» 
I  stand  here  minfc  own  advocate ;  and  my  truth, 
Deliver'd  in  the  plainest  language,  will 
Make  good  itself;  nor  will  I,  if  the  king 
Give  suffrage  to  it,  but  admit  of  you, 


100         THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR, 

My  greatest  enemy,  and  this  stranger  prince, 
To  sit  assistants  with  him. 

Aurel.  I  ne'er  wrong'd  you. 

Cam.  In  your  knowledge  of  the  injury,  I  be* 
lieve  it ; 
Nor  will  you,  in  your  justice;  when  you  are 
Acquainted  with  my  interest  in  this  man, 
Which  I  lay  claim  to. 

Rob.  Let  us  take  our  seats. 
What  is  your  title  to  him  ? 

Cam.  By  this  contract, 
Seard  solemnly  before  a  reverend  man) 

[Presents  a  paper  to  the  king. 
I  challenge  him  for  my  husband. 

SyL  Ha  !  was  I 
Sent  for  the  friar  for  this  ?  O  Sylli !  Sylli ! 
Some  cordial,  or  I  faint.' 

Rob.  This  writing  is 
Authentical. 

Aurel.  Btit,  done  in  heat  of  blood, 
Charm'd  by  her  flatteries,  as,  no  doubt,  he  was, 
To  be  dispensed  with. 

Fer.  Add  this,  if  you  please, 
The  distance  and  disparity  between 
Their  births  and  fortunes. 

Cam.  What  can  Innocence  hope  for. 
When  such  as  sit  her  judges  are  corrupted ! 
Disparity  of  birth  or  fortune,  urge  you  ? 
Or  Syren  charms  ?  or,  at  his  best,  in  me 
Wants  to  deserve  him  ?  Call  some  few  days  back, 
And,  as  he  was,  consider  him,  and  you 
Must  grant  him  my  inferior.    Imagine 
You  saw  him  now  in  fetters,  with  his  honour. 
His  liberty  lost ;  with  her  black  wings  Despair 
Circling  his  miseries,  and  this  Gonzaga 

*  Some  cordialf  or  Ifaintl  Omitted  in  Mr.  M.  Mason's  edition. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR,  iO\ 

Trampling  on  his  afflictions  ;  the  great  sum 
Proposed  for  his  redemption ;  the  king 
forbidding  payment  of  it ;  his  near  kinsmeni 
With  bis  protesting' folio werst  and  friends, 
Falling  off  from  him ;  by  the  whole  world  forsaken ; 
Dead  to  all  hope,  and  buried  in  the  grave 
Of  his  calamities ;  and  then  weigh  duly 
What  shedeserv'd,  whose  merits  now  are  doubted. 
That,  as  his  better  angel,  in  her  bounties 
Appear'd  unto  him,  his  gr^at  ransome  paid. 
His  wants,  and  with  a  prodigaLhand,  supplied ; 
Whether,  then,  being  my  manumised  slave. 
He  owed  fiiot  himself  to  me  ? 

jlurel.  Is  this  true  ? 

Rob.  In  his  silence  'tis  acknowledged. 

Ganx.  If  you  want 
A  witness  to  this  purpose,  I'll  depose  it. 

Cam.  If  I  have  dwelt  too  long  on  my  deservings 
To  this  unthankful  man,  pray  you  pardon  me ; 
The  cause  required  it.   And  thouga  now  I  add 
A  little,  in  my  painting  to  the  life 
His  barbarous  ingratitude,  to  deter 
Others  from  imitation,  let  it  meet  with 
A  fair  interpretation.    This  serpent, 
Frozen  to  numbness,  was  no  sooner  warm*4 
In  the  bosom  of  my  pity  and  compassion. 
But,  in  return,  he  ruin'd  his  preserver. 
The  prints  the  irons  had  made  in  his  flesh 
Still  ulcerous ;  but  all  that  I  had  done, 
My  benefits,  in  sand  or  water  written. 
As  they  had  never  been,  no  more.reraeoiberMl 
And  on  what  ground,  but  his  ambitious  hopes 
To  gain  this  dutchess'  favour? 

AureL  Yes;  the  object, 
Look  on  it  better,  lady,  may  excuse 
The  change  of  hiis  affection. 

Cam.  The  object ! 

VOL.  Ill,  'Jl 


ioi      fHE  Maid  of  honour; 

In  what?  forgive  mfe,  modesty,  if  I  say 
You  look  upon  your  form  in  the  false  glass 
Of  flattery  and  self-love,  and  that  deceives  you* 
That  you  were  a  dutchess,  as  I  take  it,  was  not 
Character'd  on  your  face  ;  and,  that  not  seen, 
For  other  feature,  make  all  these,  that  are 
Experienced  in  women,  judges  of  them. 
And,  if  they  are  not  parasites,  they  must  grant, 
For  beauty  without  art,  though  you  storm  at  it> 
I  may  take  the  right-hand  file/ 

Gonz.  Well  said,  i*  faith ! 
I  see  fair  women  on  no  terms  will  yield 
Priority  in  beauty. 

Cam.  Pown,  proud  heart ! 
Wjhy  do  I  rise  up  in  defence  of  that, 
Which,  in  my  cherishing  of  it,  hath  undone  me! 
No,  madam,  I  recant, — you  are  all  beauty, 
GoodnesS;  and  virtue ;  and  poor  I  not  worthy 
As  a  foil  to  set  you  off:  enjoy  your  conquest; 
But  do  not  tyrannize.    Yet,  as  I  am, 
In  my  lowness,  from  your  height  you  may  look 

on  pie, 
And,  in  your  suffrage  to  me,  make  him  know 
That„  though  to  all  men  else  I  did  appear 
The  shame  and  scorn  of  women,  he  stands  bound 
To  hold  me  as  the  masterpiece. 

Rob.  By  my  life, 
You  have  she\\rn  yourself  of  such  an  abject 

temper. 
So  poor  and  low- conditioned,  as  I  grieve  for 
Your  nearness*  to  me. 

Fer.  I  am  changed  in  my 
Opinion  of  you,  lady;  and  profess 
The  virtues  of  your  mind  an  ample  fortune 
For  an  absolute  monarch. 

Gonz.  Since  you  arc  resolved 
To  damn  yourself,  in  ygur  forsaking  of 


•■» 


tHE  Maid  of  honour.       los 

rour  noble  drder  for  a  woman,  do  it 

i*or  this.     You  may  search  through  the  world, 

and  meet  not 
With  such  another  phofenix. 

Aurd.  On  the  sudden 
I  feel  all  fires  of  love  quenC^h'd  in  the  water 
Of  my  compassion. — Make  your  peace ;  you  have 
My  free  consfent ;  for  here  I  do   lisclaim 
AH  interest  in  you :  and,  to  further  your 
Desires,  fair  maid,  composed  of  worth  and  honour, 
The  dispensatibn  procured  by  me, 
Freeing  Bcrtoldo  from  his  vow,  makes  way 
To  your  embraces. 

Bert.  Oh,  how  have  I  stray'd, 
And  wilfully,  out  of  the  noble  track 
Mark'd  me  by  virtue!  till  now,  I  was  never 
Truly  a  prisoner.    To  excuse  my  late 
Captivity,  I  might  allege  the  malice 
Of  Fortune  ;  you,  that  conquered  me,  confessing 
Courage  in  my  defence  was  no  way  wanting. 
But  now  I  have  surrendered  up  my  strengths 
Into  the  power  of  Vice,  and  on  my  forehead 
Branded,  with  mine  own  hand,  in  capital  letters, 
DiBLOTAL,  and  Ingratepul.     Though  barr'd 

from 
Human  society,  and  hiss'd  into 
Some  desart  ne*er  yet  haunted  with  the  curses 
Of  men  and  women,  sitting  as  a  judge 
Upon  my  guilty  self,  I  must  confess 
It  justly  falls  upon  me^  and  one  tear, 
Shed  in  compassion  of  my  sufferings,  more 
Than  I  can  hope  for. 

Cam.  This  compunction 
For  the  wrong  that  you  have  done  tne,  though 

you  should 
Fix  here,  and  your  true  sorrow  move  no  ftirther, 

♦Ig 


104  THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Will,  in  respect  I  loved  once,  make  these  eye* 
Two  springs 'Of  sorrow  for  you. 

^ert.  In  your  pity 
My  cruelty  shews  more  monstrous:   yet  L^nA 

not, 
Though  most  ingrateful,  grown  to  such  a  height 
Of  impudence,  as,  in  my  wishes  only, 
To  ask  your  pardon*    If,  as  now  I  fall 
Prostrate  before  your  feet,  you  will  vouchsafe 
To  act  your  own  revenge,  treading  upon  me 
As  a  viper  eating  through  the  bowels  of 
Your  benefits,  to  whom,  with  liberty, 
I  owe  my  being,  'twill  take  from  the  burtheu 
That  now  is  insupportable. 

Cam.  Pray  you^  rise ; 
As.  I  wish  peace  and  quiet  to  my  sod> 
I  do  forgive  you  heartily  :  yet,  excuse  me^ 
Though  I  deny  myself  a  blessing  that. 
By  the  favour  of  the  dutchess,  seconded 
With  your  submission,  is  otFer'd  to  me ; 
Let  not  the  reason  I  allege  for't  grieve  you, 
You  have  been  false  once. — I  have  done :  and  if, 
When  I  am  married,  as  this  day  I  will  be, 
As  a  perfect  sign  of  your  atonement  with  me, 
You  wish  me  joy,  I  will  receive  it  for 
Full  satisfaction  of  all  obligations 
la  which  you  stand  bound  to  me. 

Bert.  I  will  do  it. 
And,  what's  more,  in  despite  of  sorrow,  live 
To  see  myself  undone,  beyond  all  hope 
To  be  made  up  again. 

SyL  My  blood  begins 
To  come  to  my  heart  again. 

Cam.  Pray  you,  signior  Sylli, 
Call  in  the  holy  friar :  he'd  prepared 
For  finishing  tne  workt. 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  105 

Syl.  I  knew  I  was 
The  man :  heaven  make  me  thankful ! 

Rob.  Who  is  this  ? 

Ast.  His  father  was  the  hanker*  of  Palermo, 
And  this  the  heir  of  his  great  wealth :  his  wisdom 
Was  not  hereditary^  , 

SyL  Though  you  know  me  not, 
Your  majesty  owes  me  a  round  sum  ;  I  have 
A  seal  or  two  to  witness ;  yet,  if  you  please 
To  wear  my  colours,  and  dance  at  my  weddings 
I'll  never  sue  yout 

Hob.  And  I'll  grant  your  suit 

SffL  Gracious  madonna,  noble  general, 
Brave  captains,  and  my  quondam  rivals,  wear 
them,  [Gives  them  faoourSf 

Since  I  am  confident  you  dare  not  harbour 
A  thought,  but  that  way  current  [^Esif. 

Aurel:  For  my  part, 
I  cannot  guess  the  is&ue* 

Jte-enter  Stlli  mth  Father  Paulo. 

Sh/L  Do  your  duty ; 
And  with  all  speed  you.  can,  you  may  dispatch  us. 

Paul.  Thus,  as  a  principal  ornament  to  the 
church, 
I  seize  hen 

All.  How! 

Rob.  So  young,  and  so  religious  ! 

PauL  She  has  forsook  the  worlds, 

Syl.  And  Sylli  too  I 
I  shall  fun  mad, 

^  Ast.  HU  father  was  th  hanker  af  Pa/b*m«,l  Nerer  was 
tihere  soch  a  copy  of  an  author  as  that  of  Massinger  by  Mr.  M. 
Masoik  Jnst  aboTe^  he  dropt  ambnosyUable  to  spoil  the  metre ; 
here  he  has  inserted  one  for  the  same  reason :  at  least  \  can 
ind  no  other*    He  reads^  the  great  honker  of  Fakmun 


106         THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Jtob.  Hence  with  the  fool  l-^lSyUi  is  thrust  of. J 
— Proceed,  sir. 

Paul.  Look  on  this  maid  of  hokovRi  now 
Truly  honoured  in  her  vow 
She  pays  to  heaven :  vain  delight 
By  day^  or  pleasure  of  the  night 
She  no  more  thinks  of,    ThisjiUr  hair 
(Favours  for  great  kings  to  wear) 
Must  wnv  he  shorn  ;  hef"  rich  array 
Changed  into  a  homely  gray : 
The  dainties  with  which  she  was/ed, 
And  her  proud  JleSh  pampered^ 
Must  not  be  tasted;  Jvom  the  (^ring^ 
For  wine,  cold  water  we  pifl  bring  ; 
4ind  withfasiing  mortify 
The  feasts  of  sensuality. 
Her  jewels,  beads;  and  she  nmst  ioeh 
Not  in  a  glass,  but  holy  book^ 
To  teach  her  the  ne'er-erring  toay 
To  immortality,    O  may 
She,  as  she  purposes  to  be 
A  child  new-born  to  piety, 
Persher  *  in  it,  and  good  men^ 
With  saints  and  angels,  say,  Amen  ! 

Cam.  This  is  the  marriage!  this^  the 'port  to 
which 
My  vows  must  steer  me  J  Fill  my  spreading uiU 
With  the  pure  wind  of  your  devotions  for  ipej 
That  I  may  touch  the  secure  h^ven,  whpr? 
Eternal  happiness  keeps  her  resideace. 
Temptations  to  frailty  never  entering  I 
I  am  dead  to  the  world,  and  thus  disposal 
Of  what  I  leave  belTind  me ;  and,  dividing 
My  state  into  three  parts,  I  thus  bequeath  it: 

.  ^  Pers^rer  in  tY,]  This  ig  the  8«oond  iioitt  the  tclilor«  bava 
modernised  persevcr  ivLiopfneven^  to  the  destmctioD  of  th^  terse* 
S^e  yoL  i.  p.  ?•   ^ 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOIJR.  107 

The  first  to  the  fair  nunnery,  to  which 

I  dedicate  the  last  and  better  part 

Of  my  frail  life ;  a  second  portion 

To  pious  uses ;  and  the  third  to  thee, 

Adorni,  for  thy  true  and  faithful  service. 

And,  ere  I  take  my  last  farewell,  with  hope 

To  find*  a  grant,  my  suit  to  you  is,  that 

You  would,  for  my  sake,'  pardon  this  young  man, 

And  to  his  merits  love  him,  and  no  further. 

Jtob^  I  thus  confirm  it, 

,  [Gives  his  hand  to  Fulgentio. 

Cam.  And,  as  e'er  you  hope,         \To  Bertoldo. 
Like  me,  to  be  made  happy,  I  conjure  you 
To  reassume  your  order ;  and  in  fighting 
Bravely  against  the  enemies  of  our  faith, 
Redeem  your  mortgaged  honour, 

Gonx.  I  restore  this :    [Gives  him  the  white  cross^ 
Once  more,  brothers  in  arms. 
•  Bert.  I'll  live  and  die  so. 

Cam.  To  you  my  pious  wishes  !  And,  to  eod 
All  differences,  great  sir,  I  beseech  you 
To  be  an  arbitrator,  and  compound 
The  quarrel  long  continuing  between 
The  duke  and  dutchess. 

Rob.  I  will  take  it  into 
My  special  care, 

Cam.  I  am  then  at  rest.    Now,  father. 
Conduct  me  where  you  please. 

[Exeunt  Paulo  and  Candola. 

Roh.  She  well  deserves 
Her  name,  the  Ma][d  of  Honour  !  May  she 

stand. 
To  all  posterity,  a  fair  example 
For  noble  maids  to  imitate  !  Since  to  live 
In  wealth  and  pleasure's  common,  but  to  part 

with 
Suph  poison'd  b^ita  is  rare ;  thei:e  being  nothing 


108         THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR. 

Upon  this  stage  of  life  to  be  commended, 
Though  well  beguDi  till  it  be  fully  ended. 

[Flourish.    Exeunt.^ 

^  This  is  of  the  higher  order  of  Massinger's  plays ;  nor  will  it- 
be  very  easy  to  find  in  any  writer  a  subject  more  animated,  or 
characters  more  variously  and  pointedly  drawn.  There  is  na 
delay  in  introducing  the  business  of  the  drama ;  and  nothing  \^ 
allowed  to  interfere  with  its  progress.  Indeed  this  is  by  fat 
too  rapid  ;  and  event  is  precipitated  upon  event  without  regard 
to  time  or  place.  But  Massinger  acts  with  a  liberty  which  it 
would.be  absurd  to  criticise.  Thebes  and  Athens,  Palermo  and 
Sienna,  are  alike  to  him  \  and  he  must  be  allowed  to  transport 
his  agents  and  their  concerns  from  one  to  another,  as  often  aa, 
the  exigencies  of  his  ambulatory  plan  may  require. 

It  is  observable,  that  in  this  play  Massinger  has.  attempted 
the  more  difficult  part  of  dramatic  writing.  He  is  not  content 
with  describing  different  qualities  in  his  characters ;  but  laya 
before  the  reader  several  differences  of  the  same  qualities.  The 
courage  of  Gonzaga,  though  by  no  means  inferior  to  it,  is  not 
that  of  Bertoldo.  In  the  former,  it  is  a  fixed  and  habitual  prin. 
ciple,  the  honourable  business  of  his  life.  In  the  latter,  it  is  aa 
irresistible  impul&e,  the  instantaneous  result  of  a  fiery  temper*. 
Both  characters  are  again  distinguished  from  Roderigf  and 
Jacomo.  These  too  have  courage ;  but  we  cannot  separate  it 
from  a  mere  vulgar  motive,  the  love  of  plunder ;  and  in  this  re« 
spect  Gonzaga's  captains  resemble  those  of  Charles^  in  the  Duke 
of  Milan.  There  is  still  another  remove;  and  all  these  branches 
of  real  courage  differ  from  the  poor  and  forced  approaches  to 
valour  in  Gasparo  and  Antonio.  These  distinctions  were 
strongly  fixed  in  Massinger's  mind  :  lest  they  should  pa8» 
without  doe  observation,  he  has  made  Gonzaga  point  out  some 
of  them.  Act  II.  sc.  iii. :  and  Bertoldo  dwells  upon  others^ 
Act  III.  sc.  i.  And  in  this  respect,  again,  he  has  copied  his  own 
caution,  already  noticed  in  the  Observations  on  theRenegado.,  A 
broader  distinction  is  used  with  his  two  courtiers;  and  the  cold 
interest  of  Astutio  is  fully  contrasted  with  the  dazzling  and' 
imprudent  assumption  of  Fulgentio.  But  Camiola  herself  is  the 
great  object  that  reigns  throughout  the  piece  Every  where  she 
animates  us  with  her  spirit.,  and  instructs  us  with  her  sense. 
Yet  this  superiority  takes  nothing  from  her  softer  feelings.  Her 
tears  flow  with  a  mingled  fondness  and  regret;  and  she  ia 
swayed  by  a  passion  which  is  only  quelled  by  her  greater  reso- 
lution^  The  influence  of  her  character  is  also  heightened  througl^ 
the  different  manner  of  her  lovers;  through  the  mad  impatienc^^ 


THE  MAID  OF  HONOUR.  109 

of  the  uncontrolled  Bertoldo,  the  glittering  pretensions  of  Ful* 
gentio,  and  the  humble  and  sincere  attachment  of  Adorni,  who 
nourishes  secret  desires  of  an  happiness  too  exalted  for  him, 
faithfully  performs  commands  prejudicial  to  his  own  Tiews, 
through  the  force  of  an  affection  which  ensures  his  obedience, 
and,  amidst  so  much  serTice,  scarcely  presumes  to  hint  the 
passion  which  consumes  him.  I  know  not  if  even  signior  Sylli 
is  wholly  useless  here ;  he  serres  at  least  to  shew  her  good- 
humoured  toleration  of  a  being  hardly  important  enough  for 
her  contempt. 

In  the  midst  of  this  just  praise  of  Camiola,  there  are  a  few 
things  to  be  regretted.  Reason  and  religion  had  forbidden  her 
union  with  Bertoldo  ;  and  she  had  declared  herself  unalterable 
in  her  purpose.  His  captivity  reverses  her  judgment,  and  she 
determines  not  only  to  liberate,  but  to  marry  him.  Unfortu. 
nately  too,  she  demands  a  sealed  contract  as  the  condition  of 
liis  freedom ;  though  Bertoldo's  ardour  was  already  known  to 
her,  and  the  generosity  of  her  nature  ought^to  have  abstained 
from  so  degrading  a  bargain.  But  Massinger  wanted  to  hinder 
the  marriage  of  Aurelia;  and,  with  an  infelicity  which  attends 
many  of  his  contrivances,  he  provided  a  prior  contract  at  the 
expense  of  the  delicapy,  as  well' as  the  principles  of  his  heroine. 
It  is  well,  that  the'  nobleness  of  the  conclusion  throws  the  veil 
over  these  blemishes.  Her  determination  is  at  once  natural  and 
unexpected.  It  answers  to  the  original  independence  of  her 
character,  and  she  retires  with  our  highest  admiration  and 
esteem* 

It  may  be  observed  here,  that  Massinger  was  not  unknown 
to  Milton.  The  date  of  some  of  Milton's  early  poems,  indeed,  it 
not  exactly  ascertained ;  but  if  the  reader  will  compare  the 
speech  of  Paulo,  with  the  Penserasoy  he  cannot  fail  to  remark  a 
similarity  in  the  cadences,  as  well  as  in  the  measure  and  the 
i^olemnity  of  the  thoughts.  On  many  other  occasions  he  cer« 
tainly  remembers  Massinger,  and  frequently  in  his  representa- 
tions  of  female  purity,  and  the  commanding  dignity  of  virtue. 

A  noble  lesson  arises  from  the  conduct  of  the  principal  cha« 
racter.  A  fixed  sense n)f  truth  and  rectitude  gives  genuine 
superiority;  it  corrects  the  proud,  and  abashes  the  vain,  and 
marks  the  proper  limits  between  humility  and  presumption. 
It  also  governs  itself  with  the  same  ascendency  w))ich  it  esta- 
blishes over  others.  When  the  lawful  objects  of  life  cannot  be 
possessed  with  clearness  of  honour,  it  provides  a  nobler  pleasure 
in  rising  above  their  Attraction,  and  creates  a  new  happiness  bj 
controlling  even  innocent  desires. 


THE 


PICTURE. 


•V 


1*HE  hCTUftE.l  This  Tragi-comedjr,  or,  as  the  old  4to.  calif 
ft,  this  "  true  Hangarian  History,'*  was  licensed  by  Sir  H. 
Herbert,  Jane  8th,  1629.  The  plot,  the  Companion  to  the  Flay 
iouse  says,  is  borrowed  from  the  98th  norel  of  the  second  rolome 
of  Painter's  Palace  of  Pleasure^  1567.  The  magical  circuni- 
stance,  however,  from  whi^h  the  play  takes  its  name,  is  found 
in  a  Tariety  of  authors :  it  has  all  the  appearance  of  an  Arabiaa 
fiction,  and  was  introduced  into  our  romances  at  a  very  early 
period.  The  following  stanza  is  from  a  poem,  of  the  fourteeodi 
century,  called  Horn  ChUde  and  Maiden  Rimnildy  Ant  glyen  to  th« 
press  by  Mr.  Ritson : 

^^  To  Rimneld  he  com  withonten  lesing, 
^^  And  sche  bitaught  him  a  ring 

*'  The  Tertu  wcle  sche  lLnew« : 
^^  *  Loke  thou  forsake  it  for  no  thing, 
^^  It  schal  ben  our  tokening, 

*'  The  ston  it  is  wel  trewe, 
^^  When  the  ston  wexeth  wan, 
^^  Then  chaungeth  the  thought  of  thi  leman, 

**  Take  then  a  newe  ; 
*^  When  the  ston  wexeth  rede 
^^  Than  have  y  lorn  mi  maidenhed, 

*'  Oyaines  the  untrewe.' " 

But  the  immediate  source  from  which  our  old  writers  derived 
the  story,  which  was  once  exceedingly  popular,  was  the 
Nacelle  of  Bandello.  This  detracts  nothing  from  the  merit  of 
Massinger,  for  Bandello  tells  his  tale  very  simply.  There  is  no 
temptation  of  Ulric,  (the  Mathias  of  our  poet,)  and  very  little 
of  his  lady :  the  knights  are  secured,  as  fast  as  they  arrive  at 
lier  castlt,  and  the  picture  consequently  maintains  its  freshness— 
Indeed,  it  was  scarcely  worth  the  trouble  of  fabricating,  for  any 
purpose  to  which  it  is  applied  by  Bandello.  Massinger  has 
made  a  noble  use  of  it : — he  has,  however,  omitted  one  circam- 
atance  :  ^^  E  putira  (in  the  worst  case)  di  tnaniera  eke  7  puzzo  si 
Jura  d'ogn'  mtorno  meravigliosamente  sentire*'    Nov.  21« 

From  this,  G.  Whetstone  took  the  tale  of  Ulrico  and  lady- 
Barbara  in  his  '*  Rock  ofRegardy*^  which  Massinger  appears  to 
have  read.  The  story  is  also  to  be  found  among  the  NoveUes 
■Galantes  ;-— but  they  had  the  same  origin,  and  it  is  unnecessary 
to  enter  into  their  respective  variations.  The  French  have  mo« 
dernized  it  into  a  pretty  tale,  under  the  name  of  Comment JUer 
farfait  Amour » 

This  Play  was  much  approved  at  its  first  appearance,  when  it 
iras  acted,  as  the  phrase  is,  by  the  whole  strength  of  the  house* 


lM[aBsioger  tiimself  speaks  of  U  with  complacentj ;  and,  indeed, 
its  claims  to  admiration  are  of  no  common  kind.  It  waft  printed 
in  1630 ;  but  seems  not  to  have  reached  a  second  edition.  It 
is  said,  in  the  title-page;,  to  have  been  "  often  presented  at  the 
Globe  and  Black  Friar's  playhonses,  by  the  King's  M^esty's 
seryants." 

An  un^nccessfal  attempt  was  made  to  revive  this  Plaji  by  the 
ttey.  Henry  Bate:  Magnisexcidit  aum*  We  tolerate  no  magid 
i^ow  but  Shakspeare'i ;  and  withottt  it  the  Pictnre  c|ui  bavt  bat 
little  interest. 


TO 

My  honoured  and  selected  Frktuh^ 

9f  Ttffi 

NOBLE  SOCIETY  OF  THE  INNER  TEMPLE^ 


J[T  may  be  objected,  my  not  inscribing  their  names,  or  titlei^ 
to  whom  I  dedicate  this  poem,  proceedeth  either  from  my. 
diffidence  of  their  affection  to  me,  or. their  unwillingness  to  be 
published  the  patrons  of  a  trifle^  To  such  as  shall  make  so 
strict  an  inquisition  of  me,  I  truly  answer,  The  play,  in  the 
presentment,  found  such  a  general  approbation,  that  it  gave 
me  assurance  of  their  favour  to  whose  protection  it  is  nam 
sacred;  and  they  have  prof essed  they  so  sincerely  allow  qfit^ 
and  the  maker,  that  they  would  have  freely  granted  that  ini 
the  publication^  which,  for  some  reasons,  I  denied  myself 
One,  and  that  is  a  main  one ;  I  had  rather  enjoy  (as  I  have 
done)  the  real  proofs  of  their  friendship,  than,  mountebank^ 
like,  boast  their  numbers  in , a  catalogue.  Accept  it,  noble, 
Gentlemen^  as  a  confirmation  of  his  service,  who  hath  nothinjt 
else  to  assure  you,  and  witness  to  .  the  world,  hotp  much  & 
stands  engaged  for  your  so  frequent  bounties;  and  in  t^our 
charitable  opinion  of  me  believe,  that  you  now  may  ^andshiiU 
ever  command, 

Youf  urvant, 


PHILIP  MJSSINGER. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONJEj^  ACTORS'  NAMES, 


R.  Beniield. 
R.  Sharpe. 
J.  Lowin* 
J.  Taylor. 
T.  Pollard. 
£.  Swanstone. 
W.  Pen. 
J.  Shancke. 


Ladislaus,  king  of  Hungary, 
Ferdinand,  general  of  the  ormy^ 
Eubulus,  an  old  counsellor, 
MathiaSy  a  knight  of  Bohemia, 

mc^lo}  "^'^^ '^'^'^^'''''' 

Julio  Baptista,  a  great  scholar^ 

HilariOy  servant  to  Sophia, 

Two  Bdys,  representing  ApoUo  and 

Pallas. 
Two  Couriers. 
A  Guide. 

Servants  to  the  queen. 
Servants  to  Mathias. 

Honoria,  the  queen, 
Sophia,  wife  to  Mathias, 

Sylvk,  ^'  }  ^^^^  of  honour, 

Corisca,  Sophia's  woman,  W.  Trigge. 

i 

Maskers,  Attendants,  Officers,  Captains,  S^c. 

V 

SCENE,partty  m  Hungary,  and  partly  in  Bohemia. 


J.  Thomson. 
J.  Hunnieman. 
A.  Goffe. 


THE 


3P  I  C  T  tJ  R  E. 


0tm^mmm,^t^tm 


til       *     . 


ACT  t.    SCENE  1. 

77ie  Frontiers  of  Bohemia,-. 

:Enfer  Mathia^,  Sofhia>,   CoriscAi   Hilario, 

with  other  Servants. .  • 

Math.  Siiice  we  must  part,  Sophia,topassfurtWp 
Is  not  alone  impertinent,  but  dangerous.     ^ 
We  are  not  distant  from  the  Turkish  camp 
Above  five  leagues,  and  who  knows  but  someparty 
Of  his  Timariots/  that  scour  ihe  country, 
May  fall  upon  us?— be  now,  as  thy  name^  % 

Truly  interpreted,  hath  ever  spoke  thee, 
Wise,  and  discreet;  and  to  thy  understanding  *. 
Marry  thy  constant  patience.  , 

Soph.  You  put  me,  sir, 
^o  the  utmost  trial  of  it 

Math.  Nay,  no  melting  j 
Since  the  necessity  that  now  separates  us, 
We  have  long  since  disputed,  and  the  reasons 
Forcing  me  to  it,  too  oft  wash'd  in  tears. 

■  Ofhk  Timariots,]  timatioU  arc  the  Turkisb  cavaTrj,'* 
lort  of  feudal  yeomanry,  Who  hotd  theilr  lands  on  conditioii  of 
#estice» 

VOLt  III.  *  K    ^ 


118  THE  PICTURE. 

I  grant  that  you,  in  birth,  were  far  above  mc, 

And  .great  men,  my  superiors,  rivals  for  you; 

But  mutual  consent  of  heart,  as  hands, 

Join'd  by  true  love,  hath  made  us  one,  and  equal : 

Nor  is  it  in  me  mere  desire  of  fame, 

Or  to  be  cried  up.  by  the  public  voice, 

For  a  brave  soldier,  that  puts  on  my  armour: 

Swch  airy  tumpurs  take  not  me.     You  know 

How  narrow  our  demeans  are,'  and,  what*s  more, 

Having  as  yet  no  charge  of  cljildren  on  us, 

We  hardly  can  subsist. 

Soph.  In  you  alone,  sir, 
I  have  all  abundance. 

Math.  For  my  mind's  content, 
In  your  own  language  I  could  answer  vou. 
You  have  been  an  obedient  wife,  a  right  one'; 
!And  to  my  power,  though  short  of  your  desert, 
I  have  been  ever  an  indulgent  husband. 
We  have  long  enjoy 'd  the  sweets  of  love,  and 

though 
Not  to  satiety,  or  loathing,  yet 
We  must  not  live  such  idotkrds  on  our  pleasures. 
As  still  to  hug  them,  to  the  certain  loss 
Of  profit  and  preferment.    Competetat  means 
Mamtains  a  quiet  bed ;  want  breeds  dissention, 
Even  in  good  women.  ^ 

Soph.  Have  you  found  in  liie,  sir, 
Any  distaste,  or  sign  of  discontent, 
For  want  of  what's  superfluous  ? 

Math.  No,  Sophia ; 
Nor  shalt  thou  ever  have  caui$e  \o  repirat 
Thy  constant  course  in  go<>dtie«s,  if  hbaven  bleiss 
My  honest  undertakings.    Tis  for  tbee 
That  I  turn  soldier,  and  put  forth,  dearest, 
Upon  this  sea  of  action,  ;as  a'factor, 

*  Hww  narrtm  our  demei^s  ar<,]     Demem$  is  bore  iMd'for 
fueanf^  ti  d«in«rits  for  merits,  &g. 


THE  PICTURE:.  U9 

To  tfade  for  rich  materials  to  adorn 

Thy  noble  parts,  and  shev<r  them  in  full  lustre. 

I  blush  that  other  ladies,  less  in  beauty 

And  outward  form,  but  in  the  harmony 

Of  the  souFs  ravishing  music,  the  same  age 

Not  to  be  named  with  thete,  should  so  outshine 

thee 
In  jewels,  and  variety  orf  wardrobes  ; 
While  you,. to  whose  sweet  innocence  both  Indies 
Compared  are  of  no  value,  wanting  these, 
Pass  unregarded. 

Soph.  If  I  am  so  rich,  or 
In  your  opinion,  why  should  you  borrow 
Additions  for  me  ? 

-  Math.  Why  !  I  should  be  censured 
Of  ignorance,  possessing  such  a  jewel 
Above  all  price,  if  I  forbear  to  give  it 
The  best  of  ornaments;  therefore,  Spphia, 
In  few  words  know  my  pleasure,  and  obey  me, 
As  you  have  ever  done.     To  your  discretion 
I  leave  the  government  of  my  family, 
And  our  poor  fortunes  ;  and  from  these  command 
Obedience  to  you,  as  to  myself; 
To  the  utmost  of  what's  mine,  live  plentifully ; 
And,  ere  the  remnant  of  our  store  be  spent, 
With  my  good  sword  I  hope  I  shall  reap  for  you 
A  harvest  in  such  full  abundance,  aa 
Shall  make  a  merry  winter. 

Soph.  Since  you  are  not 
To  be  diverted,  sir,  from  what  you  purpose, 
All  arguments  to  stay  you:bere  are  useless  : 
Go  when  you  please,  'Sir,    Eyes,  I  charge  yoa 

waste  not 
One  drop  of  sorrow ;  look  you  hoard  all  up 
Till  in  any  widow'd  bed  I  -c^U  M.pon  you, 
But  then  be  sure  you  fail  not.  you\bLest  angels^ 
Guardians  of  human  life,  I  at  this  instant 

♦K2 


ISO  THE   PICTURE* 

Forbear  t'invoke  you  ;  at  our  partiog,  'ivtire 

To  personate  devotion.'    My  soul    . 

Shall  go  along  with  you,  and,  when  you  are 

Circled  with  death  and  horror,  seek  and  find  you ; 

And  then  I  will  not  leave  a  saint  unsued  to 

For  your  protection.    To  tell  you  what 

I  will  do  in  your  absence,  would  shew  poorly ; 

My  actions  shall  speak  for  me :  'twere  to  doubt ' 

you, 
To  beg  I  may  hear  from  you ;  where  you  are 
You  cannot  live  obscure,  nor  shall  one  post. 
By  night  or  day,  pass  unexamined  by  me. — - 
If  I  dwell  long  upon  your  lips,  consider,  ,  ; 

[Kisses  him* ' 
After  this  feast,  the  griping  fast  that  follows, 
And  it  will  be  excusable ;  pray  turn  from  me. 
All  that  I  can,  is  spoken.  [Ejdt. 

Math.  Follow  your  mistress. 
Forbear  your  wishes  for  me;  let  me  find  them, 
At  my.  return,  in  your  prompt  will  to  serve  her. 

Hit  For  my  part,  sir,  I  will  grow  lean  with 
study 
To  make  her  merry. 

Coris^  Though  you  are  my  lord, 
Yet  being  her  gentlewoman,  by  my  place 
I  may  take  my  leave ;  your  hand,  or,  if  you  please 
To  have  me  fight  so  high,  I'll-  not  be  coy, 
But  stand  a-tip-toe  for't. 

Math.  O,  farewell,  girU  \Kisse$  her^ 

Hit.  A  kiss  well  begg'd,  Corisca.  '   ' 

Coris.  Twas  my  fee ; . 
Ix)ve,  how  hemelts  J*  I  caunot  blame  my  lady's 

'  To  personate  deootion,']  i.  e.  to  play  it  as  an  assumed  part. 
See  vol.  ii.  p.  504. 

^  Love,  how  he  melti  /]  So  the  quarto :  the  modern  editions 
ba?e,  JoTe,  htm  he  melts.    Why  Coxeter  made  the  alteration  T 
cannot  even  guess ;  surely,  deity  for  deity,  the  former  is  th«  . 
Siost  natural  for  Corisca  to  swear  hj. 


THE  PICTURE;  121 

ITnwillingness  to  part  with  such  marmalada  lips. 
There  will  be  scranriblinj^  for  them  in  the  camp  ; 
And  were  it  not  for  my  honesty,  I  could  wish  now 
I  were  his  leaguer  laundress  ;•  I  would  find 
Soap  of  mine  own,  enough  to  wash  l^is  lineni 
Or  1  would  strain  hard  for't. 

HiL  How  the  mammet  twitters  ! 
Come,  come;  my  lady  stays  for  us* 

Coris.  "Would  I  had  been 
Her  ladyship  the  last  night ! 


I  could  tmsh  n<m 


I  were  his  leaguer  lqundrcs»;2  Mr.  M.  Mason  reads  Ais  letter 
landrets  ;  what  he  understood  by  it,  1  know  110(9  but  Coriscn 
me^ns  his  camp  laundress. 

*<  ..^ — —  While  I  lay 

^*  In  the  ieagver  at  Ardeunes,  he  corrupts 
*^  Two  mercenary  scares,''  &c.  Love's  Viciory^ 

leaguer  is  the  Dutch,  or  rather  Flemish,  word  for  a  camp ;  and 
was  one  of  the  newfangled  terms  introduced  from  the  Low* 
Countries.  This  innovation  on  the  English  language  is  excel- 
lently noticed  by  Sir  John  Smythe,  in  Certain  JPiscoursnes  co»* 
€erning  the  Formes  and  Effects  9f  diicers  Sorts  of  Weapons  ^c. 
4to.  1590.  ^^  These,^  (the  ofoenr  iqentioned  before,)  **  ntterl^e 
Ignorant  of  all  our  auncient  discipline  and  proceedings  in  actions 
of  armes,  have  so  affected  the  Wallons,  Flemings,  and  base 
Almanes  discipline,  that  they  have  procured  to  innovate,  or 
rather  to  subvert  aU  our  s^upcient  proceedings  in  matters  miU- 
tary : — as,  for  example,^  they  will  not  vouchsafe  in  their  speaches 
or  writings  to  use  Qur  termes  belonging  to  matters  of  warre,  but 
400  call  a  campe  by  the  Dutch  name  of  Icgar  ;  nor  will  not  aford 
to  say  th^t  such  ^  towi]ie  qr  such  a  fort  is  besciged,  but  that  itia 
helegard : — as  though  our  English  nation,  which  hath  be^n  so 
famous  in  all  actions  militarie  manie  hundred  jear^Sj^  wer^  now 
but  newly  crept  into  the  world ;  or  a.3  though  our  language  were 
SO  barren,  that  it  were  not  ^ble  .of  itself,  or  by  derivation  to 
affoord  co[][veuient  words  to  utter  oiir  miuds  in  mattcrif  of  that 
qualitie.'' 

I  cannot  avoid  adding  my  wbhes,  that  our  officers  would  re.* 
fleet  a  little  on  these  sensible  observations :  there  is  now  a 
greater  affectation  than  ever,  of  introducing  French  military 
phrases  into  our  army  ;  the  consequences  of  which  may  be  more 
Important  than  they  seem  to  imagine* 


\ 


m 


THE  PICTURE. 


.    jBBA  Np  imore  of  that,  wench. 

lEa^tint  jmarWf  Corisca^  and  the  rest 
Matfi^'  I  aoi  (Strangely   troubled   yet  why  I 
.    $hOuld  nourish 
A  fury  here,  and  with  imagined  food, 
Having  no  real  grounds  (m  which  to  raise 
A  building  of  suspicion  she  was  ever 
Or  can  be  fake  hereafter.    I  in  this 
But  foolishly  enquire  the; knowledge  of  . 
A  future  sorrow,  whfieh,  if  I  find  out, 
My  present  ignorance  were  a  cheap  purchase. 
Though  with  roy  loss  offering,  - 1  ha^ve  already 
Dealt  with  a  friend  of  mine,  a  genera)  scholar, 
"One  deeply  read^  iii  nature's  hidden  sf^crets, 
And,  though  with  mAich  unwillingness',  hare  woU 

him 
To'  do  as  much  as  art  can,  to  resolve  me 
My  fate  that  fbllows— To  my  wish^  he's  Homtu' 

JEnter  Bavt  1ST  A, 

Jolid  Bli^ttstai  now  I  may  affirm 


6 


a  general  scholar, 


One  aeeptjf  read  &c.]  In  the  list  of  draTn^th  persofii^,  ioo^  he 
is  galled  a  great  scholar,  7he  character  of  Baptista  is  founded 
upon  a  notion  Tcrj  generally  received  in  (be  dark  Ages,  Chat  men 
of  learning  were  conversant  in  the  operations  of  magic:  and^ 
indeed,  a  scholar  and  ^  magician  are  frequently  c^ufbuncfed  by 
our  old  writers,  or  rather  considered  as  one  and  the  s^me.  fhtt 
notion  is  not  yet  obsolete  amone  the  vulgar. 

Baptista  Porta  has  given  an  elaborate  account,  in  h^  ^l^atise 

,  He  Magia  naturally  of  the  powers  once  supposed  to  be  possessecl 
and  exercised  by  magicians.  I  pnce  thought  that  this  tfeatite 
was  not  published  in  Massinger's  time,  but  have  since  learned 

^  that  it  appeared  at  Antwerp  in  158^5,  and  at  Frankfort  in  lOOf. 

.  Probably  there  were  other  editions :  ^t  all  events,  both  th^  au^ 
thor  and  his  work,  had  long  been  known  in  this  country,- 

It  is  an  ingenious  conjecture  <)f  Mr.  Gilchrist,  that  he  to^ 
the^ame  of  his  '^  dee|>.read  scholar/*  |Vpm  Baftis(a  Pprtai. 


THE  FICTUR?.  IS^S 

Your  promise  and  pf rformance  walV;  together ; 
And   therefore^  witboiiit  circuqas^UAce,  to    tbe 

•  point : 
Instruct  me  what  I  am. 

Bapt.  I  could  wish  you  had 
Made  trial  of  my  love  soone  other  way. 

Math*  Nay,  this  is  from  the  purpo&e. 

Bapt.  If  you  can 
Proportion  your  desire  to  any  mean, 
I  do  pronounce  you  happy ;  \  have  found^ 
By  certain  rule*  of  art,  your  matchless  wife 
Is  to  this  present  hour  froiaci  s^U  pQnut;ioA 
free,  aud*uiit£iinted. 

Math.  Good. 

Bufpt^  In  reason,  therefore,  ^ 
You  should  fix  here,  and  make  no  further  search 
Of  what  may  fall  hereafter. 

Math.  O^  fiaptista, 
'Tis  not  in  pie  to  n(is|$ter  so  xnv  passions ; 
J  must  know  further,  or  you  have  made  good 
But  half  your  promise.  While  my  love  stood  by, 
Holding  her  uprightt  and  my  presence  was 
A  watch  upon  her,  hej  desires  beiqg  met  too 
With  equal  ardour  from  me,  what  one  proof 
Could  she  give  of  her  constancy^,  heing  un- 

t^mpted? 

But  when  1  am  abs^iit,  and  my  coming  back 
Uncertain,  and  those  wan^n  beats  in  women, 
Not  to  be  quench'd  by  lawful  means,  aud  she 
The  ahioluve  disposer  of  herself,^ 
Without  control  pr  curb;  nay,  ipore^  invited 
By  opportunity,  and  all  strong  temptations. 
If  then  she  hold  out — 

Bapt.  As,  i>o  doubt,  she  will. 

Math.  Those  doubts  musi  be  made  certainties, 
Baptista, 
By  your  assurauce ;  or  your  boasted  art 


ie4  *HE  PICTURl!. 

Deserves  no  adtniration.    How  you  trHle, 
'  And  play  with  my  affliction)  I  am  on 
The  rack,  till  you  confirm  m^. 

Bapt.  Sure,  Mathias, 
I  am  no  god,  nor  can  I  dive  into 

Herhidden  thoughts,  orknowwhathcrintenlsare-j 

That  is  denied  to  art,  and  kept  coiiceal'd 

E'en  from  the  devils  themselves :  they  can  but 

guess, 
Out  of  long  observation,  what  is  likely ; 
But  positively  to  fortel  that'  shall  be, 
You  may  conclude  impossible.    All  I  can, 
I  will  do  for  you  ;  when  you  are  distant  from  her 
A  thousand  leagues,  as  if  you  then  were  withher„ 
You  shall  know  truly  when  she  is  solicited| 
And  how  far  wrought  on. 

Math.  I  desire  no  more.        •  ^ 

Bapt  Take  then  this  little  model  of  Sophia, 
With  more  than  huriian  skill  limn'd  to  the  life  ; 

[Gives  kim  a  picture^ 
Each  line  and  lineament  of  it,  in.  the  drawing, 
So  punctually  observed,  that,  had  it  motioui 
In  so  much  'twere  herself. 

Math,  It  is,  indeed. 
An  admirable  piece?  but  if  it  have  not 
Some  hidden  virtue  that  I  cannot  guess  at> 
In  what  cdiXi  it  advantage  me  ? 

Bapt.  ril  instruct  you : 
Carry  it  still  about  you,  and  as  oft 
As. you  desire  to  know  how  she's  affected, 
With  curious  eyes  peruse  it:  while  it  keepi 
The  figure  it  now  has,  entire  and  perfect. 
She  is  not  only  innocent  in  fact,    •  ■ 
But  unattenipted  j   but  if  once  it  v^ry 

'  '  '  '         • 

7  But  positively  to  fortdi}\?A  shall  bcyl  All  the  copies  rea^ 
that  this  sh%Il  be,  i^hich  Bpqils  the  Terse,  and,  besides  bein^  QQJ(h' 
lense^  is  not;  indeed^  the  language  of  (be  age. 


THE  PICTURE.  125 

From  the  true  form,  and  what's  now  white  and  red 

Incline  to  vellovv/  rest  most  confident 

She's  with  all  violence  courted,  but  unconquer'd  ; 

But  if  it  turn  all  blacky  'tis  an  assurance 

The  fort,  by  composition  or  surprise, 

Is  forced,  or  with  her  free  consent  surrendered. 

Math,  How  much  you  have  engaged  roe  for 
this  favour, 
The  service  of  my  whole  life  shall  make  good. 

Bapt.  We  will  not  part  so,  Til  along  with  you, 
And  it  is  needful :  with  the  rising  sun, 
The  armies  meet ;  yet,  ere  the  fight  begin, 
In  spite  of  opposition,  I  will  place  you 
In  the  head  of  the  Hungarian  general's  troop, 
And  near  his  person. 

Math.  As  my  better  angel. 
You  shall  direct  and  guide  me« 

Bapt.  As  we  ride  - 
I'll  tell  you  more. 

Math.  In  all  things  I'll  obey  you.       \Ejpcunt. 


SCENE    II. 

Hungary.    Alba  Regalis.*    A  State-room  in  the 

Palace. 

JEw/erUsALpo  andRiCAViDO. 
Ric.  When  canie  the  post  ? 


but  if  once  ii  vary 


From  the  trueform^  and  what's  now  white  and  red 
Incline  to  yellow,]  It  is  not  improbable  bat  that  these  and 
similar  fictions  were  originally  demed  from  the  rabbinical  no- 
tion, that  distant  erents  were  signified  to  the  high-priest  by 
changes  in  the  colour  of  the  previous,  stones  which  formed  th* 
yrim  and  Thummim. 
9  Alba  Regatis.]    See  Act  iii.  Sc.  6.  .     « 


lafi  THE'PICTUEE. 

Ubald.  The  last  night.    - 

Ric.  From  the  camp  ? 

Ubald.  Yes,  as  'tis  said^  and  the  letter  writ  and 
sign'd 
By  the  genera],  Ferdinand. 

Rk.  Nay,  tbeni  saQS  que$.ti<>D, 
It  is  of  moment. 

Ubald^  It  concerns  the  lives 
Of  two  great  armies. 

Ric.  Was  it  cheerfully 
Received  by  the  king  ? 

Ubald.  Yes  5  for  being  assured 
The  armies  were  in  view  of  one  another^ 
Having  proclaim'd  a  public  fast  and  prayer 
For  the  good  success,  [he]  dispatched  a  gentleman 
Of  his  privy  chamber  to  the  general, 
With  absolute  authority  from  him, 
To  try  the  fortune  of  a  day, 

Ric.  No  doubt  then 
The  general  will  come  on,  and  fight  it  bravely. 
Heaven  prosper  him  !  This  military  art, 
I  grant  to  be  the  noblest  of  professions ; 
And  yet,  I  thank  my  stars  for't,  I  was  never 
Inclined  to  learn  it ;  since  this  bubble^h(mour 
(^Which  is,  indeed,  the  nothing  soldiers  fight  for,) 
With  the  loss  of  limbs  or  life,  is,  in  my  judgment, 
•  Too  dear  a  purchase.* 

Ubald.  Give  me  our  court  warfare  :  * 
The  danger  is  not  great  in  the  encounter 
Of  a  fair  mistress. 


since  this  bubble  konouTy 


{Which  w,  indeed^  the  nothing  soldiers jfight for y\ 
With  the  loss  of  limbs  or  life^  is,  in  mif  judgment j 
Too  dear  a  purchase^]  In  this  passage,  which  has  been  hitherto 
most   absurdly  pointed,  Massiiiger,  as  Coxeter  observes,  had 
Shakspeare  in  his  thoughts,  and  principally  Falstaff'»  humormit 
catechism. 


THE  PICTURE.  JSf 

Ric.  Fair  and  sound  together 
Do  very  well^  Ubaldo ;/  but  such  are. 
With  difficulty,  to  be  found  out  ;  and  \rhien  they 

know 
Their  value,  prized  tbo  high.  By  thy  owii  report^ 
Thou  vast  at  t>velve  a  gamester,  and  since  that. 
Studied  all  kinds  of  females,,  from  the  nights 

trader 
I'  the  street,  with  certain  danger  to  thy  pocket, 
To  the  great  lady  in  her  cabinet ; 
That  spent  upon  thee  more  in  cullisea, 
To  strengthen  thy  weak  back,  than  would  main- 

t^in 
Tw<lT<e  Flanders  fnares, .and  as  many. running 

horses:  .  ^    . 

Besides  apothecaries  and  surgeons'  bills. 
Paid  .upon  all  occasions,  and  those  frequent. 

Ubald.  You  talk,  Ricardo,  as  if  yet  you  were 
A  novice  in  those  mysteries* 

Ric.  'By  no  means  ; 
My  doctor  can  assure  the  contrary : 
I  lose  no  time.    I  have  felt  the  pain  s^nd  pleasure. 
As  he  that  is  a  gamester,  and  plays  ofteni 
Must  sometimes  be  a  loser. 
Ubald.  Wherefore,  then, 
Do  you  envy  me  ? 

Ric.  It  gfow&  not  from  my  want, 
Kor  thy  abundance ;  but  being,  as  I  am, 
The  likelier  man,  and  of  much  more  experience. 
My  good  parts  are  my  curses :  there's  no  beauty. 
But  yields  ere  it  be  summon'd;  and,  as  nature 
Had  sign'd  me  the  monopoly  of  maidenheads. 
There's  none  can  buy  till  I  have  made  my  market. 
Satiety  cloys  me ;,  as  I  live,i^  would  part  with 
Half  my  estate,  nay,  travel  o'er  the  world, 
To  find  that  only,  phcenix  in  my  search| 
That  cQuld  bold  out  ag;ainst  me. 


> 


128  THE   iPICtURE. 

Ubald.  Be  not  rapt  so ; 
You  may  spare  that  labour.    As  she  is  a  woman^ 
What  think  you  of  the  queen  ? 

Ric.  I  dare  not  aini  J^t 
The  petticoat  royal,  that  is  still  excepted  : 
Yet,  were  she  not  my  king's,  being  the  abstract 
Of  all  that's  rare,  or  to  be  wished  in  woman. 
To  \^rrite  her  in  my  catalogue,  haying  enjoy 'd'her^ 
I  would  venture  my  neck  to  a  halter — but  wo 

talk  of  ^ 

Impossibilities:  as  she  hath  a  beauty 
Would  make  old  Nestor  young;  such  majesty 
Draws  forth  a  sword  of  terror  to  defend  it. 
As  would  fright  Paris,  though  the  queen  of  love^ 
Vow'd  her  best  furtherance  to  him. 

Ub(ild.  Have  you  observed 
The  gravity  of  her  language,  mix*d  with  sweet- 
ness  ? 

Ric.  Then,  at  what  distance  she  reserves herseU^ 
When  the  king  himself  makes  hi-s  approaches  ta 
her— 

Ubald.  As  she  were  still  a  virgin,  and  his  life 
But  on^  continued  wooing. 

Ric.  She  well  knows 
Her  worth,  and  values  it. 

Ubald.  And  so  far  the  king  is 
Indulgent  to  her  humours,  that  he  forbears    • 
The  duty  of  a  husband,  but  when  she  calls  for^tu 

Ric.  All  his  imaginations  and  thoughts 
Are  buried  in  her;  the  loud  noise  of  war 
Cannot  a;wake  him. 

Ubald.  At  this  very  instant, 
When  both  his  life  and  crown  are  at  the  stake, ' 
'He  only  studies  her  content,  and  when 
She's  pleased  to  shew  herself,  music  and  masquesi 
Are  with  all  care  and  cost  provided  for  her. 

Ri(f.  This  night  she  prpmised  to  appean 


HHJE  PICTURE.  \99 

•  -  « 

XTbald.  You  m ay- 
Believe  it  by  the  diligence  of  the  king, 
As  if  he  were  her  harbinger. 

Enter  Labislaus,  EuButus,  and  AitendanU 

with  perfumes^ 

Ladis.  Theac  rooms 
Are  not  perfumed,  as  we  directed. 

Eubu.  Not,  sir  I 
I  know  not  what  you  would  have ;  1  afn  dure  the 

smoak 
Cost  treble  the  ptice  of  the  whole  week's  provision 
Spent  in  your  majesty's  kitchens. 

Ladi$.  How  I  scorn 
Thy  gross  comparison  I   When  my*  HonoHa, 
The  amazement  of  the  present  time,  and  envy 
Of  all  succeeding  ages,  does  descend 
To  sanctify  a  place,  and  in  her  presence 
Makes  it  a  temple  to  me,  can  I  be 
Too  curious,  much  less  prodigal,  to  receive  her  ? 
£ut  that  the  splendor  of  her  beams  of  beauty 
Hath  struck  thee  blind — 

Eubu.  As  dotage  hath  done  you. 

Ladis.  Dotage  ?  O  blasphemy  !  is  it  in  me 
To  serve  her  to  her  merit  ?  Is  she  not 
The  daughter  of  a  king  ? 

Eubu.  And  you  the  son 
Of  ours,  I  take  it;  by  what  privilege  else. 
Do  you  reign  over  us  ?  for  my  part,  I  know  not 
Where  the  disparity  lies. 

Ladis   Her  birth,  old  man. 
Old  in  the   kingdom's  service,  which  protects 

thee. 
Is  the  least  grace  in  her:  and  though  her  beauties 

*  When  my  Honoria^^  ^r*  ^-  Mason  omits  my ;  I  know  not 
wliether  hj  inadrerteuce  or  design ;  but  it  injures  the  metre* 


130  THE  PICTURE. 

Might  make  the  Thunderer  a  rival  for  her, 

They  are  but  superficial  ornaments, 

And  faintly  speak  her:  from  her  heavenly  mind, 

Were  all  antiquity  and  fiction  lost, 

Our  modern  poets  could  not,  in  their  fancy, 

But  fashion  a  Minerva  far  transcending 

The  imagined  one  whom  Homer  only  dreamt  of. 

But  then  add  this,  she's  mine,  mine,  Euhfilus!' 

And  though  she  knows  one  glance  from  her  fair 

eyes 
Must  make  all  gazers  her  idolaters, 
She  is  so  sparing  of  their  influence 
That,  to  shun  superstition  in  others, 
She  shoots  her  powerful  beams  only  at  me* 
And  can  I,  then,  whom  she  desires  to  hold 
Her  kingly  captive  above  all  the  world,. 
Whose  nations  and  empires,  if  she  pleased, 
She  might  command  as  slaves,  but  gladly  pay 
The  humble  tribute  of  my  love  ana  service, 
Nay,  if  I  said  of  adoration,  to  her, 
I  did  not  err? 

Eubu.  Well,  since  you  bug  your  fetters, 
In  Love's  name  wear  tli«em  !  You  are  a  king,  and 

that 
Concludes  you  wise:*  your  will  a  powerful  reason, 

^  But  then  add  this^  skes  mine,  mine  Eubulus!]  Our  old 
writers  were  yery  lax  in  their  use  of  foreign  names.  Massinger 
was  a  scholar,  yet  he  pronouiices  Eubulus  much  as  Shakspeare 
would  have  done  it. 

You  are  a  king,  and  that 


Concludes  you  wi^ :  Sec,']  Massinger  appears  to  me  to  haTO 
several  sly  thrusts,  in  various  parts  of  his  works^  at  the  slavish 
doctrines  maintained  by  most  of  the  celebrated  writers  of  hit 
time  : 

^  be  it  one  poet^s  praise, 


''  That  if  he  pleased,  he  pleased  Jby  manly  ways^ 
*^  That  flattery  even  to  kings  he  held  a  shame, 
''  And  thought  a  He  in  verse  or  prose  th«  same.^ 


THE  PICTURE.  131 

Which  >3re,  that  are  foolish  subjects,  must  not 

argue. 
And  what  in  a  mean  man  I  should  call  folly, 
Is  in  your  majesty  remarkable  wisdom  : 
But  for  me,  I  subscribe. 

Ladis.  Do,  and  look  up. 
Upon  this  wonder. 

Loud  music.     Enter  Honoria  in  state^  under  o- 
Canopy ;   her  train  borne  up  by  Syjlvia  and 

ACANTHE. 

Ric.  Wonder  !  It  is  iliore,  sir. 

Ubald.  A  rapture,  an  astonishment. 

Ric.  What  think  you,  sir  ? 

Eubu.  As  the  king  thinks ;  that  is  the  surest 
guar4 
We  courtiers  ever  lie  at.' — Was  prince  ever 
So  drowh'd  in  dotage?  Without  spectacles 
I«can  see  a  handsome  woman,  and  she  is  so: 
But  yet  to  admiration  look  not  on  her. 
Heaven,  how  he  fawns !  and,  as  it  were  his  duty, 
With  what  assured  gravity  she  receives  it ! 
Her  hand  again  !  O  she  at  length  vouchsafes 
Her  lip,  and  as  he  had  suck'd  nectar  from  it. 
How  he's  exalted  !  Women  in  their  natures 
AffeCxt  comniand  ;  but  this  humility 
In  a  husband  and  a  king,  marks  her  the  way 
"To  absolute  tyranny.    \The  king  seats  her  on  his 
throne.']  So  !  Juno's  placed 
in  Jove's  tribunal :  and,  like  Mercury, 
(Forgetting  his  own  greatness,)  he  attends 

•  •  ' 

<  Eubu.  As  the  king  ihinjc^^  that  is  the  surest  guard 

We  courtiers  ever  lie  at.]  i.  e.  the  surest  posture  of  defence. 

*'  Thou  knowcst,"  says  Falstaff,  "  my  old  ward;  thus  I  tajf.^^ 

Guard  aad  ward  are  the  same  word. 


m   ,  THE  J^ICTURlEv 

For  her  employments.     She  prepares  to  speak } 
What  oracles  shall  we  hear  now  ?  \Adde% 

Hon.^  That  you  please,  sir> 
With  Such  assurances  of  love  and  favour,  ^ 
To  grace  your  handmaid,  but  in  being  yours,  sir^ 
A  matchless  queen,  and  one  that  knows  herself  so> 
Binds  me  in  retribution  to  deserve 
The  grace  conferred  upon  me. 

Ladis.  You  transcend 
In  all  things  excellent;  and  it  is  my  glory, 
Your  worth  weighed  truly,  to  depose  myself 
From  absolute  command,  surrendering  up 
My  will  and  faculties  to  your  disposure : 
And  here  I  vow,  not  for  a  day  or  year. 
But  my  whole  life,  which  I  wish  long  to  serve  you^ 
That  whatsoever  I,  in  justice,  may 
Exact  from  these  my  subjects,  you  from  me 
May  boldly  challenge:  and  when  you* require  it^ 
In  sign  of  my  subjection,  as  your  vassal; 
Thus  I  will  pay  my  homage, . 

Hon.  O  forbear,  sir  ! 
Xet  not  my  lips  envy  my  robe ;  on  them 
Print  your  allegiance  often:  I  desire 
No  other  fealtv. 

Ladis.  Gracious  sovereign ! 
Boundless  in  bounty  ! 

JEubu.  Is  not  here  fine  fooling  ! 
He's  questionless,  bewitch'd.    Would  I  were  getti 
So  that  would  disenchant  him  !  though  I  forfeit 
My  life  for't,  I  must  speak. — By  your  good  leavcj 
sir—  [Passing  before  the  king^ 

I  have  ncu^uit  to  you,  nor  can  you  grant  one, 
Having  no  power :  you  are  like  me,  a  subjectj 
Her  more  than  serene  majesty  being  present. 
And^I  must  tell  you,  'tis  ill  manners  in  you^ 
Having  deposed  yourself,  to  keep  your  hat  on,    . 
And  not  stand  bare,  as  we  db,  being  no  king, 


THE  PICTURE,  1S$ 

But'  a  f^eilow-subject  witTi  us.  Gentlemen*mlicrs, 
It  does  belong  to  your  place,  see  it  reforniM ; 
He  has  given  away  his  crowui  and  cannot  chal^i 
_         ^engc  ^ 

The  privilege  of  his  bonnet. 
Ladis.  Do  not  tempt  me. 
Eu6u.  Tempt  you!  in  what  ?  in  following  your 
example  ? 
If  you  are  angry,  question  me  hereafter, 
As  Ladislaus. should  do  Eubulus, 
■  On  equal  terms.    You  were  of  late  m)'^  sovereign| 
But  weary  of  it,  I  now  bend  my  knee 
To  her  divinity,  and  desire  a  boon 
From  her  morq  than  magnificence. 

Hon.  Take  it  freely. 
Nay>  be  not  moved ;  for  our  mirtVs  sake  let  u§ 
hear  him. 
Eubu.  Tis  but  to  ask  a  question :  Have  yoi| 
ne'er  read 
Th?  story  of  Semiramis  and  Ninus  ? 
lion.  Not  as  I  remember.  " 

Eubu.  I  will  then  instruct  you, 
And  'tis  to  the  purpose  :  This  Ninus  was  a  king. 
And  such  an  impotent  loving  kiugas  this  was, 
But  now  he*s  none ;  this  Ninus  (pray  you  ob- 
serve me) 
I>oted  on  this  Semiramis,  a  smith*s  wife ; 
(I  must  confess,  there  the  comparison  holds  not. 
You  are  a  king's  daughter,  yet,  under  your  cor^ 

rection, 
Like  her,  a* woman;)  this  Assyrian  monarchy 
Of  whom  this  is  a  pattern,  to  express   ** 
fiis  love  and  service,  seated  her,  as  you  are, 
Ja  bis  regal  thronei  and  bound  by  oath  bis 

jiobl^ 
Forgetting  all  allegtance  to  himself, 
One  day  to  be  her  subjects,  and?  to  put 

voi..  Ill,  •  L 


134  THE  PICTURE. 

In  execution  whatever  she 
Pleased  to  impose  upon  them : — ^^pray  you  com- 
mand him 
To  minister  the  like  to  us,  and  then 
You  shall  hear  what  foUow'd. 

Ladis.  Well,  sir,  to  your  story. 

Eubu.  You  have  no  warrant,  stand  by ;  let  me 
know 
Your  pleasure,  goddess. 

Hon.  Let  this  nod  assure  you. 

Eubu.  Goddess-like,  indeed  I  as  I  live,  a  pretty 
idol ! 
She  knowing  her  power,  wisely  made  use  of  it;  " 
And  fearing  his  inconstancy,  and  repentance 
Of  what  he  had  granted,  (as,  in  reason,  madam, 
You  may  do  his,)  that  he  might  never  have 
Power  to  recall  his  grant,  or  question  her 
For  her  short  government,  instantly  gave  order 
To  have  his  head  struck  off* 

La^.  Is't  possible  ? 

Eubu.  The  story  says  so,  and  commends  her 
wisdom 
For  making  use  of  her  authority. 
And  it  is  worth  your  imitation,  madam : 
He  loves  subjection,  and  you  are  no  queen, 
Unless  you  make  him  feel  the  weight  of  it. 
You  are  more  than  all,  the  world  to  him,  and  that 
He  may  be  so*  to  you,  and  not  seek  change, 

^  YoH  are  more  than  aU  the  xoorU  to  him^  and  that 
Ht  imiy  he  Foe  to  i/ou^\  This  is  the  reading  of  all  the  old 
copies,  bat  most  certainly  false.     It  ought  to  be 

■  and  that 

He  may  he  so  to  you.    Coxeter. 

Vlien  it  IS  consideried  that  the  old  way  of  spelling  m  was^bf^ 
and  that  the/  is  frequently  mistaken  for  an  f^  we  shall  not  h^ 
inclined  to  think  extraordinarily  highly  of  the  editor's  sa^acity^ 
notwithstancljng  it  b  set  off  by  a  capital  letteri  which  is  not  t^ 


tHE  PICTURE.  135 

When  his  delights  are  sated^  mew  htm  up 
In  some  close  prison^  (if  you  let  him  live, 
Which  is  tio  policy,)  and  there  diet  him 
As  you  think  fit^  to  feed  your  appetite ; 
Since  there  ends  his  ambition. 

Ubald.  Devilish  counsel  1 

Ric.  The  king's  amazed. 

Ubald.  The  queen  appears,  too,  full 
Of  deep  imaginations;  Eubulus 
Hath  put  both  to  it 

Ric.  Now  she  seems  resolved : 
I  long  to  know  the  issue. 

[Honoria  descends  from  the  throne. 

Hon.  Give  me  ieave> 
Dear  sir,  to  reprehend  you  for  appearing 
Perplex'd  with  what  this  old  man,  out  of  envy 
Of  your  unequal  graces  showerM  upon  me, 
Hath,  in  his  fabulous  story^  saucily 
Applied  to  me.     Sir,  that  .you  only  nourish 
One  doubt  Honoria  dares  abuse  the  power 
With  which  she  is  invested  hy  your  favour; 
Or  that  she  ever  can  make  use  of  it 
To  the  injury  of  you,  the  great  besto^ver; 
Takes  from  your  judgment.    It  was  your. delight 
To  seek  to'  me  with  more  obsequiousness 
Than  I  desired  :  and  stbod  it  with  my  duty 
Kot  to  receive  what  you  were  pleased  to  oflfer  ? 
I  do  but  act  the  part  you  put  upon  me, 
And  though  you  make  me  oersonate  a  queen. 
And  you  my  subject,  when  tneplay,yourpleasure, 
Is  at  a  period,  I  am  what  I  was 

he  found  in  tlie  original.  But  now  steps  in  Mr.  M*  Mason,  and, 
liaTing  th^  sc«nt  of  an  amendment,  pronounces  so,  to  be  nonsensel 
and  proposes  to  readj  (nay, 'actaally  prints,)  true^  which,  saith 
lie,  ^  is  evidently  the  right  word."    AU  this  thrashing  fot  chaff! 

7  To  uek  to  mc  Sc]    Sea  to!,  t.  p.  tVt* 


isd  THE  t>lCtURE. 

Before  I  enter'd,  still  your  humble  wifci 
And  you  my  royal  sovereign. 

Jiic.  Admirable! 

Han.  I  have  heard  of  captains  taken  more  witfif 
dangers 
Than  the  rewards ;  and  if,  in  your  approa'chesr 
To  those  delights  which  are  your  own,  and  freely, 
To  heighten  your  desire,  you  make  the  passage 
Narrow  and  difficult,  shall  I  prescribe  you, 
Or  blame  your  fondness?  or  can  that  swell  me 
Beyond  my  just  proportion?  • 

tfbald.  Above  wonder ! 

Ladis.   Heaven  make  me  thankful  for  such 
goodness  ! 

Hon.  Now,  sir, 
The  state  I  took  to  satisfy  your  pleasure, 
I  change  to  this  humility ;  and  the  oath 
You  made  to  me  of  homage,  I  thus  cancel. 
And  seat  you  in  your  own. 

[Leads  the  king  to  the  thronei 

Ladis.  I  am  transported 
Beyond  myself. 

Hon.  And  now,  to  your  wise  lordship : 
Am  I  proved  a  Semiramis  ?  or  hath 
MyNinufi,  as  maliciously  you  made  him, 
Cause  to  repent  the  excess  of  favour  to  me^ 
Which  you  call  dotage  ? 

Ladis.  Answer,  wretch ! 

Eubu.  I  dare,  sir. 
And  say,  however  the  event  may  plead 
In  your  defence,  you  bad  a  guilty  causej 
Nor  was  it  wisdom  in  you,  I  repeat  it, 
To  teach  a  lady,  humble  in  herself 
•With  the  ridiculous  dotage  of  a  lover, 
To  be  ambitious. 

Ho^.  Eubulus,  I  am  so; 

'Li  rooted  in  me;  you  mutakfe  ipy  temper^ 


THE  PICTURE-  IS7 

1  do  profess  myself  to  be  the  tnW 
Ambitious  pf  my  sex^  but  not  to  hold 
Command  over  my  lord ;  such  a  proud  torrent 
Would  sink  me  in  my  wishes :  not  that  I 
Am  ignorant  how  much  I  can  deserve^ 
And  may  with  justice  challenge. 

fJwftw.  This  I  look'd  for  ; 
After  this  seeming  humble  ebb,  I  knew 
A  gushing  tide  would  follow.  [4^de. 

xfon.  By  my  birth, 
And  liberal  gifts  of  nature,  as  of  fortunCi^ 
From  you,  as  things  beneath  me,  I  ei^pi&ct 
What's  due  to  majesty,  in  which  I  am 
A  sharer  with  your  sovereign. 

Eubu.  Good  again  !    * 

Hon.  And  as  lam  most  eminent  in  place, 
Jn  all  my  actions  I  would  appear  so. 
.  Jjadis.  You  need  not  fear  a  rival. 

Hon.  I  hope  not ;  ^ 

And  till  I  6nd  one,  I  disdain  to  know 
What  eiiyy  is. 

Ladis.  You  are  above  it,  madam. 

Hon.  For  beauty  without  art,  discourse,  and 
free* 
IFrom  affectation,  with  what  graces  else 
Can  in  the  wife  and  daughter  of  a  king  • 
Be  wish'd,  I  dare  prefer  njyself,  as—— 

^  For  hesuty  without  art  J  disoounej  Mnd  freekcl^  Tkese  laat 
words  are  improperly  arranged,  we  shoald  read, 

For  beauty  without  art^  und  discottnef/eefrom  affectation. 

M.  Masox. 

I. know  not  bow  mach  Mr.  M.  Mason  bad  read  of  his  author 
when  he  wrote  this  note;  Imt  must  take  leav^  to  think,  that 
bis  kcqiiatiitance  with  hipn  was  exceedingly  superficial.  ^1^ 
mode  of  expression,  which  he  would  change  into  tame  prose  bjr 
luB  arrangemeiit,  in  so  frequent  in  Massinger,  as  to  fornf  one  of 
the  characteristics  of  his  style.   It  is  not,  Indeed,  iinkopwa  to^ 


s 


iS8  THE  PICTURE. 

Euhu.  I 
Blush  for  you,  lady.  Trumpet  your  own  praises  !• 
This  spoken  by  the  people  haa  been  heard 
With  honour  to  you.     Does  the  court  afford 
No  oil-tongued  parasite,  that  you  arc  forced 
To  be  your  own  gross  flatterer? 

Ladis.  Be  dumb, 
Thou  spirit  of  contradiction ! 

Hon^  The  wolf 
But  barks  against  the  moon,  and  I  contemn  it.  . 
The  mask  you  promised.    \A  horn  soundedmthin, 

JLadis.  Let  them  enter, 

tlnter  a  Courier. 

How ! 
Euhu.  Here*8  one,  I  fear,  unlocked  for, 
Ladis    From  the  camp  ^ 
Cour.  The  general,  victorious  in  your  fortunei^ 
Kisses  your  hai^d  in  this,  %\tl     [Delivers  a  letter^ 

or  unused  by.  any  of  his  contemporariet ;  lint  in  none  of  theoi 
are  the  recnrrences  of  it  so  freqiieiit. 

•  Eu)>u.  / 

Plw^/or  you f  lady.  Trumpet  your  omn  prmses  !}  .Dodfleyreads^ 

As  I 

Blush  for  yout  lady^  trumpet  not  your  ofVfn  praise^ 
Coxeter  and  ^r^  H»  Ma^on : 

As  I 

Blush  for  you  J  lady,  trumpet  your  own  praises-.'  ■ 
And  explain  it  to  mean  that— ^'  she  herself  having  lost  all  sense 
pf  sbamej  he  undertakea  tp  blush  for  her;  and  therefore  ironic 
caily  bids  her  prooeed.'^ 

I  like  neither  of  th|ise  reading^.    DQdsley*s  is  tery  tame ;  an4 
Coxeter's  at  Tarian^e  with  wha^  foUows|.    The  old  copy  pointy 
the  passage  thus : 
Eub,  As  J 

Blush  for  youj  Myy  trumpet  your  ofom  ptaises  t 
Which  leads  i^e  to  suspect  that  the  queen  was  interfupted  by 
the  impatience  of  Eubulus ;  and  upon  this  idea  I  have  regulated 
the  text.    This  is  by  far  the  greatest  liberty  which  1  hate  yet 
lakipn  with  niy  author,. 


THE  PICTURE.  159 

Ladis.  That  great  Power, 
Who  at  his  pleasure  does  dispose  of  battles,  . 
Be  ever  praised  for't !  Read,  sweet,  and  partake  it: 
The  Turk  is  vanquish'd,  and  with  little  loss 
Upon  our  part,  in  which  our  joy  is  doubled. 

Eubu.  But  let  it  not  exalt  you ;  bear  it,  sir. 
With  moderation,  and  pay  what  you  owe  for*t. 

Ladis.  I  understand  thee,  Eubulus.  I'll  not  now 
Enquire  particulars.— [jBo^iV  Courier.^ — Our  de- 
lights deferr'd, 
With  reverence  to  the  temples ;  there  we'll  tender 
Our  souls'  devotions  to  his  dread  might, 
Who  edged  our  swords,  and  taught  us  how  to 
fight*  [Ea^cunt. 


ACT  11.    SCENE  I.* 
Bohemia.    A  Hall  in  Mathias*  Itouse, 
Enter  Hilario  and  Corisca« 

Hil.  You  like  my  speech  ? 

Coris.  Yes,  if  you  give  it  aiction 
Jn  the  delivery. 

Hil.  If  I  I  pity  you. 
I  have  play'd  the  fool  before ;  this  is  not  the  first 

time, 
Kor  shall  be,  I  hope,  the  last. 
.    Coris.  Nay,  I  think  so  too. 

Hil.  And  if  I  piit  her  not  out  of  her  dumps 
with  laughter, 
I'll  make  her  howl  for  anger. 

Coris.  Not  too  much   - 
pf  that;  good  fellow  Hilario :  our  sad  lady 


,140  ^HE  PICTUE?. 

iiath  drank  too  often  of  that  bitter  cup ; 

A  pleasant  one  must  restore  ber.    With  what 

patience 
Would  fthe  endure  to  hear  of  the  death  of  ipy  lord } 
That,  merely  out  of  doubt  he  may  misci^rry. 
Afflicts  herself  thus  ? 

HiL  Umph  I  'tis  a  question 
A  widow  only  can  resolve.    There  be  $oma 
That  in  their  husbands'  sicknesses*  have  wept 
Their  pottle  of  tears  a  day ;  but  being  once  cer-» 

tain 
At  midnight  he  was  dead,  have  in  the  morning 
Pried  up  their  handkerchiefs,  ^nd  thought  Viftx 

more  on't. 
*  Coris.  Tush,  sh?  is  none  of  that  race ;   if  hey 

sorrow 
©e  not  true  and  perfect,  I,  against  my  sex, 
Will  take  my  oath  woman  ne'er  wept  in  earnest^ 
She  has  made  herself  a  prisoner  to  her  chamber^ 
Dark  as  a  dungeon,  in  which  no  beam 
Of  comfort  enters.    She  admits  no  visits; 
Eats  little,  and  herpightly  music  is 
Of  siglis  and  groans,  tuned  to  such  harmony 
Of  feeling  grief,  that  J,  against  my  nature, 
Am  made  one  of  the  consort.*    This  Jtour  only 
She  takes  the  air,  a  custom  every  day 
3he  solemnly  obseryesj  with  greedy  hopi^v 


*  That  in  their  huihands'  sipkneftses  fta^w^tl  So  tiie quarto: 
tbfi  modern  editor^  read, 

That  in  their  husband's  sicktie^s  have  w^t 

irhich  utterly  de9troys  the  metre.  In  the  next  speech,  fbr — 
.voman  ne'er  toept^  Mr.  M.  14a$on  gi?es  ut— ^omen  ne'er  mpt  3 
and  tbu9  he  ^tumbles  and  l^lundef 8  on  through  the  wJhole  wor1(« 

*  Am  made  one  of  the  consort.]  IJere,  as '  every  where  els^, 
Mr.  M.  Mason  discharges  the  genoia^  ^qrd  for  concert.  Sef  04 
fatal  Dowr^.  ^ 


T^E  PICTURE,  44A 

IProm  .some  that  pass  by,  to  receive  asBuTMce   ' 
Of  the  success  and  safety  of  Iver  lord* 
Now,  if  that  your  device  will  take."  -^i 

HiL  Ne'er  fear  it : 
J  am  provided  cap-4-pi6|  and  have 
My  properties  ia  readiness. 

Soph   [xeiibin*]  firing  my  veil,  there. 

Com.  BegoQe,  J  hear  her  coming. 

HiL  If  I  do  flot 
Appear^  an4»  what's  nfore,  appear  perfect^  hiss  me. 

Enter  Sophia. 

•  * 

Soph.  I  was  flatter'd  once,  I  was  a  star,  but  now  "^ 

Turn'd  a  prodigious  meteor,,  and,  like  one, 

Hang  in  the  air  between  my  hopes  and  fears ; 

And  every  hour,  the  little  stuff  burnt  out 

That  yields  a  waning  light  to  dying  comfort, 

I  do  expect  my  fall,  and  certain  ruin. 

In  wretched  things  more  wretched  is  delay ; 

And  Hope,  a  parasite  to  me,  being  unmask'd. 

Appeals  more  horrid*  than  Despair,  and  my 

Distraction  worse  than  madness.  Even  my  prayers, 

When  with  most2eal  sent  upward,  are  puU'd  down 

With  strong  imaginary  doubts  and  fears. 

And  in  their  sudden  precipice  o'er  whelm  me. 

Dreams  and  fantastic  visions  walk  the  round'    > 

About  my  widow'd  bed,  and  every  slumber's 

3roken  with  loud  alarms  :  can  these  be  then 

!Put  sad  presages,  girl  ? 

Coris.  You  make  them  so, 


'  Dreams  and  fantastic  visions  walk  the  rpand]  Forr^A« 
foundy  Coxeter  would  read,  their  round;  but  he  did  not  under- 
•ftand.the  phrase^  f<  To  walk  tke  rouad"  wastccboical^  and 
meant  to  xoatch^  in  which  sense  it  often  occnirs  in  Masainger,  and 
^tber  writers  of  his  age. 


J4t  THE  PICTURE. 

And  antedate  a  loss  shall  ne'er  fall  on  vou. 
Such  pure  affection,  such  mutual*  love, 
A  bed,  and  undefiled  on  either  part, 
A  house  without  contention,  in  two  bodies 
One  will  and  soul,  like  to  the  rod  of  concord, 
Kissing  each  other,  cannot  be  short-lived, 
Or  end  in  barrenness. — If  all  these,  dear  madam^ 
(Sweet  in  your  sadness,)  should  produce  no  fruity 
Or  leave  the  age  no  models  of  yourselves, 
To  witness  to  posterity  wh\it  you  were ; 
Succeeding  times,  frighted  with  the  ekample^^ 
But  hearing  of  your  atoryi  would  instruct 
Their  fairest  issue  to  meet  sensually, 
Like  other  creatures,  and  forbear  to  raise 
True  Love,  or  Hymen,  altars. 

Soph.  O  Corisca, 
I  know  thy  reasons  are  like  to  thy  wishes ; 
And  they  are  built  upon  a  weak  foundation. 
To  raise  me  comfort.     Ten  long  days  are  past^ 
Ten  long  days,  my  Corisca,  since  my  lorq 
Embark'd  himself  upon  a  sea  of  danger, 
In  his  dear  care  of  me.     And  if  his  life 
Had  not  been  shipwreck'd  on  the  rock  of  war^ 
HisHenderness  of  me  (knowing  how  much 
I  languish  for  his  absence)  had  provided 
Some  trusty  friend,  from  whom  I  might  receive 
Assurance  of  his  safety, 

Coris,  111  news,  madam, 
Are  swallow-wing'd,  but  what's  good  walks  du 

crutches : 
With  patience  expect  it,  and,  ere  long, 
No  doubt  you  shall  hear  from  him. 

[A  horn  mthouK 

Soph.  Ha!  What's  that? 

Coris.   The  fool  has  got  a  sowgelder's  hoxx^ 
[Aside  ]  A  post, 
As  I  take  it,  madam, 


THE  picture:  143 

Soph.  It  makes  this  way  still ; 
Nearer  and  nearer* 

Coris.  From  the  camp,  I  hope. 

flnter  one,  disguised  as  a  Courier,  with  a  horn  ;  foU 
lowed  by  Hila^iio,  in  antic  armour^  with  long 
white  hair  and  beard. 

Soph.  The  messenger  appears^  and  in  strange 
armour. 
Heaven  !  if  it  be  thy  will — 

Hil:  It  is  no  boot 
To  strive;  our  horses  tired,  let*s  walk  on  foot : 
And  that  the  castle,  which  is  very  near  us, 
To  give  us  entertainment,  may  soon  hear  us, 
Blow  lustily,  my  lad,  and  drawing  nigh-a,* 
Ask  for  a  lady  which  is  cleped  Sophia. 

Coris.  He  names  you,  madam. 

JUL  For  to  her  I  bring, 
Thus  clad  in  arms,  news  of  a  pretty  thing, 
By  nanvc  Mathias.  [Esit  Courier. 

Soph.  From  my  lord  ?  O  sir, 
I  am  Sophia,  that  Mathias'  wife. 
3.Q,may  Mars  favour  you  in  all  jrour  battles, 
As  you  with  speed  unload  me  of  the  burthen 
I  labour  undpr,  till  I  am  confirm'd 
^oth  where  and  how  you  left  him  ! 

Hil.  If  thoAi  art. 


^  Blow  luiiUy^  my  lad^  and  drawing  ntg1l4^ 
Ask  for  a  lady  which  is  cltptd  Sophin.]  Coxeter  took  tke  a 
from  nighma^  and  Mr.  M.  Maaon,  not  to  be  behind  hand  in  the 
boyiness  of  improtement,  reduced  Sophia  to  Sophy. .  He  then  ob- 
series  with  great  self-complacency,  ^^  this  emendation''  (emen* 
dation!)  ''  is  tcidently  right;  as  all  the  rest  of  this  ridiculous 
speech  Is  in  rhyniiey  we  Bkonidwilhout  doubt  read  Sophy  iMteaA  of 
Sophia !"  After  all  this  confidence,  the  q14  copy  reads  precisely 
^»  I  haf  e  gtren  it 


|44  THE  PICTURE. 

As  I  believe,  the  pigsney  of  his  heart, 
Know  he's  in  health,  and  what^  more,  fullof  gleef 
And  so  much  I  was  will'd  to  say  to  thee. 
.  Soph.  Have  you  no  letters  from  him  ? 

Hil.  No  more  words.* 
In  the  camp  we  use  no  pens,  but  write  with  swords  ;^ 
Yet,  as  I  am  enjoin'd,  by  word  of  mouth 
I  will  proclaim  his  deeds  from  north  to  south  j[ 
But  tremble  not,  while  I  relate  the  wonder, 
Though  my  eyes  like  lightning  shiae,  and  my  voice 
thunder. 

Soph.  This  is  some  counterfeit  braggart. 

Com.  Hear  him,  madam. 

HiL  The  rear  march'd  first,  which  followed  by 
the  van,    • 
And  wing'd  with  the  battalia,*  no  man 
Durst  stay  to  shift  a  shirt,  or  louse  himself; 
Yet,  ere  the  armies  join'd,  that  hopeful  elf. 
Thy  dear,  thy  dainty  duckling,  bold  Mathias, 
Advanced,  and  stared  like  Hercules  or  Goliasu 
A  hundred  tliousand  Turks,  it  is  no  vaunt,   * 
AssaiTd  him  ;  every  one  a  Termagaunt : 
But  what  did  he,  then  !  with  his  keen- edge  spesor 
He  cut  and  carbonaded  them  :  here  and  there 
Lay  legs  and  arnfs ;  and,  as  'tis  said  trulee 
Of  Bevis,  some  hfe  quarter'd  all  in  three. 

Soph*  This  is  ridiculons. 

HiL  I  must  take  breath; 
Then,  like  a  nightingale,  I'll  sing  his  death. 

'  Hil.  ^0  more  vuore/i.]  Her«  is  another  ^^  ereendation*'! 
The  editors  read ;  No^  mere  xoorde.  But  Hitario  alludes  to  what 
lie  had  just  said — ^^  so  much  /  wa$  tsiltd  to  toy  to  tkee-^and 
therefore  yufstion  me  no  further"  The  contradiction  whtdi  fol^ 
jows,  makes  the.  humour,  if  it  may  be  so  styled,  of  this  absurd 
interlude. 

^  And  ttfing'd  with  the  battalia^]  Mr.  M(.  Mason  reads  £«6- 
tfilvm  •;  a  neodles9  surer  ease  of  nonsense  t  by  kiUtalia  our  old 
mriiters  meant  what  we  now  call  the  main  body  of  Ih^  wnny. 


THE  f  ICT0RE. 


U5 


Soph.  His  death  I 

IliL  I  am  out.  [Aside  to  Coris* 

Coris.  Recover,  dutider-head.    * 

Hil.  How  he  escaped,  I  should  have  sung,  no| 
died ;  ^ 
For,  though  a  knight,  when  I  said  so,  I  lied. 
Weary  he  was^  and  scarce  could  stand  upright, 
And'looking  round  fur  some  courageous  knight 
To  rescue  him,  as  one  perplex'd  in  woe, 
He  caird  to  me.  Help,  help,  Hilario ! 
My  valiant  servant,  help  ! 

Coris.  He  has  spoil'd  all. 

Soph.  Are  you  the  man  of  anhs,  then?  I'll 
make  bold 
To  take  off  your  martial  beard,  yau  had  foprs  hair 
Enough  without  it.   Slave  !  how  durst  thou  maki^ 
Thy  sport  of  what  concerns  me  more  than  life. 
In  such  an  antic  fashion  ?  Am  I  grown 
Contemptible  to  those  I  feed  ?  you,  minion, 
Had  a  hand  in  it  too,  as  it  appears ; 
Your  petticoat  serves  for  bases  to  this  warrior,' 

Cons.  We  did  it  for  your  mirth« 

HiL  For  myself,  I  hope, 
I  have  spoke  like  a  soldi'er. 

^  ^  Your  petticoat  serves  fit  bases  to  this  warrior.  J.  Bases  teem 
to  be  some  kind  of  qailted  and  ornameDtal  covering  for  the 
thighs.  It  appears  -to  hare  made  «  p^rt  of  the  militarjr  habit  of 
the.  time ;  . 

*'  Per,  Now  hf"  your  fartberance  I  am  clad  in  sted 

^^  Only,  my  friend,  I  yet  am  unprovided 

**  Of  a  pair  of  bases. 
^^  Fish.  WeMt  sure  provide:  thou  ibalt  hartrnj  best  gsmu  « 

'^  to  make  thee  a  pair."  Pericles^  A*  ii.  ec.  1* 

^^  Bases,"  Mr.  Douce  says,  ^^  were  suggeste^by  the  Roman 
ttUitary  dress.''  This  is  probable ;  but  the  btot  was  greatly  im- 
proved ;  for  the  Roman  base  was  little  mqre  than  a  simple  flap, 
or  fringe*  The  Highlanders  wear  a  kind  of  bases  at  this  day  r 
Corisca*s  petticoat,  therefore,  suffered  no  very  violent  meta« 
Aorphosis  in  its  migration  to  the  bases  of  Hilario* 


I4«  THE  PlCTURfi* 

Soph.  Hence,  you  rascal ! 
I  tie\ner  btit  with  reverence  name  lily  lord, 
And  can  I  hear  it  by  thy  tongue  profaned, 
And  not  correct  thy  folly  ?  but  you  are 
Transformed,    and   turned   knight-errant;    takd 

your  course, 
And  wander  where  you  please ;  for  here  I  vom^ 
By  my  lord's  life,  (an  oath  I  will  not  break,) 
Till  his  return,  or  certainty  of  his  safety. 
My  doors  are  shut  against  thee.  [^xih 

Coris.  You  have  made 
A  fine  piece  of  work  on't !  How  do  you  like  the 

quality?* 
You  had  a  foolish  itch  to  be  an  actor, 
And  may  stroll  where  you  please* 
•    Hil.  Will  you  buy  my  share  ? 

Coris.  No,  certainly;  I  fear  I  have  already 
Too  much  of  mine  own :  V\\  only,  as  a  damsel, 
(As  the  books  say,')  thus  far  help  to  disarm  you  J 
And  so,  dear  Don  Quixote,  taking  my  leave, 
I  leave  you^  to  your  fortune.  [ExiU 

HiL  Have  I  sweat 
My  braihs  out  for  this  quaint  and  rare  invention^ 
And  am  I  thus  rewarded  ?  1  could  turn 
Tragedian,  and  roar  now,  but  that  I  fear 
'Twould  get  me  too  great  a  stomachy  having  no 

meat 
To  pacify  colon  :*  What  will  becbme  of  me  ? 
I  cannot  beg  in  armour,  and  steal  I  dare  not : 

'  H(m  do  you  like  the  quality  ?]  i.  e*  the  profession  of  playing* 
See  the  Roman  Jctor^  vol.  li.  p.  33&k  In  the  last  ii&e  of  this 
speech,  the  editors  have  unnecessarily  inserted  now  before^troll^ 

9  As  the  books  My,]  i.  e.  the  books  of  knight»errantry,which 
were  then  much  read.  Coxeter  and  Mr*  M.  Mason  lia? e*-^#  the 
book  says ! 

'  To  pacify  colon :]  i.  e.  the  crayings  of  hanger.  See  toL  i* 
p.  132.    ' 


THE  PICTURE.  147 

My  end  must  be  to  stand  in  a  corn  field, 

And  fright  away  the  crows,  for  bread  and  cheese  ; 

Or  find  ^me  hollow  tree  in  the  highway, 

And  there,  until  my  lord  return,  sell  switches: 

l«Jo  more  Hilario,  but  Dolorio  now, 

ni  weep  my  eyes  out,  and  be  blind  of  purpose 

To  move  compassion  ;  and  so  I  vanish.      \ETiL 


SCENE    11. 

Allm  Regalia.    An  ante-room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Eubulus,  Ubalpo,  ^icatldo^  and  others. 

Eubu.  Are  the  gentlenien  sent  before,  as  it 
was  order'd 
By  the  king's  direction,  to  entertain 
The  general? 

.   Ric.  Long  since  ;  they  by  this  have  met  him, 
And  given  him  the  bienvenu. 

^Euhu.  I  hope  I  need  not 
Instruct  you  in  your  parts. 

iTbald.  How  !  us,  my  lord ! 
Fear  not.;  we  know  our  distances  and  degrees 
To  the  very  inch  where  we  are  to  salute  him. 

Ric.  The  state  were  miserable,  if  the  court 
had  none 
Of  her  own  breed,  familiar  with  all  garbs 
Gracious  in  England,  Italy,  Spain,  or  France ; 
With  form  and  punctuality  to  receive 
Stranger  ambassadors :  for  the  general. 
He's  a  mere  native,  and  it  matters  not 
Which  way  we  do  accost  him. 

Uhald.  'Tis  great  pity 
That  such  as  sit  at  tne  helm  provide  no  better 


For  the  trainlDg  up  of  the  gentry.    In  myjudg*^ 

inent 
An  academy  erected,  with  large  pensions 
To  8uch  as  in  a  table  could  set  down 
The  congees,  cringes,  postures,  methods,  plira$e| 
Proper  to  every  nation 

Ric^  O,  it  were 
An  admirable  piece  of  work  ! 

Ubald.  And  yet  rich  fools 
Throw  away  their  charity  on  hospitals 
For  beggars  and  lame  soldiers,  and  ne^er  study  , 
The  due  regard  to  compliment  and  courtship^ 
Matters  of  jnore  import ;  and  are  indeed 
The  glories  of  a  monarchy  ! 

Eubu.  These,  no  doubt> 
Are  state  points,  gallants,  I  confess  ;  but,  surd> 
Our  court  needs  no  aids  this  way,  strice  it  is 
A  school  of  nothing  else.  There  are  some  of  yott 
Whom  I  forbear  to  name,  whose  coining  heads 
Are  the  mints  of  all  new  fashions,  that  haVe  done 
More  hurt  to  the  kingdom  by  superfluous  bra^* 

very,^ 
Which  the  foolish  gentry  imitate,  than  a  war, 
Or  a  long  faminb ;  all  the  treasure^  by 
This  foul  excess,  is  got  into  the  merchant, 
Embroiderer,  silkman,  ieweller,  tailor's  hand, 
And  the  third  part  of  the  land  t6o,  the  nobility 
Engrossing  titles  only. 

Hie.  My  lord,  you  are  bitten  [^  trumpet 

JEnter  a  Servant. 
Sero.  The  general  is  alighted,  and  no\ir  enterM» 


\ 


by  iuperfluous  bravcrj]  i.  e.  a$  I  hare  %\m 


reafly  obserted;  finerji  costliness,  of  sppareli  &e* 


THE  PICT ITRE.:  149: 

Ric*  Were  he) ten  gejierals,  I  am  prepared^ 
And  know  what  I  will  do. 

Eubu.  Pray  you  what,  Ricardo  ? 
Ric  I'll  fight  at  compliment  with  him, 
Ubald.  ril  charge  home  too.      . 
Eubu.  And  that's  a  desperate  service ;  if  you 
come  off  well. 

Enter  Ferdinand,  Mathias,  Baptista,  and . 

Captains.^ 

Ferd.  Captain,  command  the  officers  to  keep 
The  soldier,,  as  he  march'd,  in  rank  and  file, 
Till  they  hear  further  from  me.  [Exeunt  Captains. 

Eubu.  Here's  one  speaks 
In  another  key  ;  this  is  no  canting  language 
Taught  in  your  academy. 
'  Ferd.  Nay,  I  will  present  you 
To  the  king  myself. 

Math.  A  grace  beyond  my  merit. 

Ferd.  You  undervalue  what  I  cannot  set 
Too  high  a  price  on. 

Eubu.  With  a  friend's  true  heart, 
I  gratulate  your  return. 

Ferd.  Next  to  the  favour 
Of  the  great  king,  I  am  happy  in  your  friendship*. 

Ubald.  By  courtship,  coarse  on  both:Sides! 

Ferd.  Vx2Ly  you,  deceive 
This  stranger  to  your  knowledge ;  on  my  credjt. 
At  all  parts  he  deserves  it. 

Eubu.  Your  report 
Is  a  strong  assurance  to  me.-rrrSir,  most  welcome. 

Maths  This  said  by  you,  the  re verence  of  y our 
age 
Commands  me  to  believe  it. 

Ric.  This  was  pretty; 
But  second  me  now, 1  cannot  stoop  tpo  Iqw 

VOL.  Ill,  *  M 


.  \ 


150  THE  PICTURE. 

To  do  your  excellence  tbat^duc  obseirance 
Your  fortune  claims.  -  ^       ■ 

Eubu.  He  ne*cr  thinks  on  his  virtue  ! 
Ric.  For  being,  as  you  are,  the  soul  o£  sbldiets, 
And  bulwark  of  Bellona — 

Ubald.  The  protection 
Both  of  the  court  and  king—^ 

Ric.  And  the  sole  minioa 
Of  mighty  Mars — 

Ubald.  One  that  with  justice  may 
Increase  the  number  of  the  worthies — 
Eubu.  Heyday ! 

Ric.  It  being  impossible  in  my  arms  to  circlet 
Such  giant  worth — 

Ubald.  At  distance  we  presume 
To  kiss  your  honoured  gauntlet. 

Eubu.  What  reply  now 
Can  he  make  to  this. foppery  ? 

Ferd.  You  have  said, 
Gallants,  so  much,  and  hitherto  done  so  little. 
That,  till  I  learn  to  speak,  and  you  to  do,         > 
I  must  take  time  to  thank  you. 

Eubu.  As  I  live, 
Answer'd  as  I  could  wish.  How  the  fops  gape  now! 
Ric.  This  was  harsh  and  scurvy. 
Ubald.  We  will  be  revenged 
When  he  comes  to  court  the  ladiies,  and  laugb  at 
him. 
Eubu.  Nay,  do  your  offices  gentlemen,  and 
conduct 
The  general  to  the  presence. 
Ric.  Keep  your  order. 
Ubald.  Make  way  for  the  general.    . 

[^Exeunt  all  but  Eubulus.' 
Eubu.  What  wise  man. 
That,  with  judicious  eyes,  looks  on  a  soldier. 
But  mUst  confess  that  fortune's  swing  is  mote    ^ 


THE  PICTURE.  Wl 

t)'er  tbat/professiofiy.thiii  aU  kinds  lelse 

Of  life.pursuecl  by  uian  ?  They,  in  a  state. 

Are  but  as  flurgeons  to  wounded  .men,, 

E'efi  desperate  in  their  hopes:  While  p%in  and 

.    anguish 
Make  them  blaspheme,  and  call  in  vain  for  death. 
Their  wives  and  children  km  the  surgeon's  knee?, 
Promise  him  mountains,  if  his  saving  hand 
Eestore  the  tortured  wretch  to  former  strength : 
But  when  grim  death,  by  iEscuIapius'  art. 
Is  irighted  from  the  house,  and  health  appi^ars 
In  sanguifre  eolour;3  on  the  sick  man's  face, 
All  is  forgot;  ant),  asking  hisTewardi 
He's  paid  with  curses,  often  receives  wounds 
From  him  whose  wounds  he  cured:  so  soldiers, 
Though  of  more  worth  abd  ii3e,  meet  the  same 

fate. 
As  it  Is  too  apparent    I  have  observed, 
When  horrid  Mars,'  the  touch  of  whose  rough 

hand 
With  palsies  shatkes  a  kingdom,  hath  pht  on 
His  dreadful  helmet,  and  with  terror  fills 
The  place  where  he,  like  an  unwelcome  guest, 

'  HiereJs  botfa  an  ippperfection  and  a  redundaiif^  in  thU 
speech,  as. it  stands  in  the  old  edition,  whioh  reads, 

»"  ■  I  have  obsfrved 

In  one  hue. 

Wkm  horrid  JHfars,  &c. 

Prom  the  repetitions,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  solilo- 
qnj  (which  is  sufficiently  long)  was  abridged  in  the  prompter's 
book,  and  that  the  abridgment  and  the  orlgimU  wereconfounded, 
and  unskilfully  copied  at  the  press.  This  is  not  a. circumstance 
so  improbable  as  it  may  appear  to,  some  readers,  for  I  could 
gire  many  instances  of  it  It  should  be  remembered  that  therio 
is  but  one  edition  of  this  play,  so  that  the  etil  is  without 
remedy.  Coxeter  altered  the  pointing,  without  improfing  the 
sense ;  a&d  Mr*  M.  Mason  gar e  the  passage  unfaithfuttj • 

♦Ma 


Ui  THE  PICTURE. 

I 

Resolves  to  revel,  how  the  lords  of  her,  like 
The  tradesman,  merchant,  and  litigious  pleader, 
And  such  like  scarabs  bred  in  the  dung  of  peace^ 
In  hope  of  their  protection,  humbly  offer   ' 
Their  daughters  to   their  beds,  heirs  to  their 

service, 
And  wash  with  tears  their  sweat,  their  dust,  their 

scars : 
But  when  those  clouds  of  war,  that  inenaced  - 
A  bloody  deluge  to  the  affrighted  state. 
Are,  by  their  breath,  dispersed,  and  overblown, 
And  famine,  blood,  and  death,  Bellona's  pages, 
Whipt  from  the  quiet  continent  to  Thrace;* 

'  ♦  Whipt  from  the  quiet  continent  to  Thrace  ;'\   Massinger  is 
here  mistaken,  for  Thrace  is  upon  the  continent.     Coxeter. 

Massinger  probably  knew  as  well  ^s  the  editor,  that  part  of 
Thrace  was  on  the  continent ;  but  the  Thracian  archipelago, 
which  was  dedicated  to  Mars,  is  composed  of  islands. 

M.  Masost. 
It  is  difficult,  in  the  words  of.Escalus,  to  say,  ^^  which  is  the 
wber  here,  Justice  or  Iniquity."  The  contrast  is  not  between  a 
continent  and  an  island,  but  between  a  state  of  tranquillity  and 
one  of  warfai'e.  The  ancients  comprehended  under  the  name 
of  Thrace  much  of  the  north*eastem  part  of  Europe,  the  fierce 
inhabitants  of  which  were  supposed  to  worship  Mars  and 
Bellona ;  who,  in  return,  made  the  country  the  peculiar  place 
of  their  residence.  Tbence  they  are  frequently  described  with 
great  magnificence  by  the  poets,  as  setting  forth  to  kindle  war, 
^^^leith  their  pages,  famine,  blood,  and  death;"  and  thither, 
when  peace  was  restored,  they  were  supposed  to  retire  again. 
The  same  idesi,  and  nearly  in  the  same  words,  has  already 
occurred  in  the  Roman  Actor : 

NoWy  the  god  of  war, 

And  famine  J  blood,  and  death,  Bellona*  s  pages^ 

Banish'dfrdm  Rome  to  Thrace^  in  our  good  fortune,  . 

With  justice  he  may  taste  the  fruits  of  peace. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  Massinger  might  allude  in  both 
places  to  a  noble  passage  in  Sophocles : 

A>iKa»y  Apia,  n  to*  fjMT^tpov, 


THE  PICTURE.  tSS 

Soldiers,  that,  like  the  foolish  hedge-sparrow, 
To  their  own  ruin,  hatch  this  cuckoo,  peace, 
Are  straight  thought  burthensome;  since  want 

of  means, 
Growing  from*  want  of  action,  breeds  contempt : 
And  that,  the  worst  of  ills,  falls  to  their  lot. 
Their  service,,  with  the.  danger,  soon  forgot. 

^  Enter  a  Servant.  . 

Serv.  The  queen,  my  lord,  hath  made  chqice 
of  this  room. 
To  see  the  masque. 

Eubu.  I'll  be  a  looker  on  : 
My  dancing  days  are  past. 

Loud  music.  Enter  Ubaldo,  Ricardo,  Ladi- 
sLAUs,  Ferdinand,  Honoria,  Mathias,  Syl- 
via, AcANTHE,  Baptist  A,  Captains^  and  others. 
As  they  pass,  a  Song  in  praise  of  war. 

r 

Ladis.,  This  courtesy 
To  a  stranger,  my  Honoria,  keeps  fair  rank 

Tlarfoq  iiref09'  iir'  %s  yutyf 

Oi^  rvf.  300. 
In  Thrace  too  was  the  temple  of  Mars,  described  with  un- 
common energy,  and  appropriate  magnificence  of  description, 
hy  Statins :  * 

Hie  tterUes  delubra  not  at  Mawrtia  syhas 
Horrescitque  tuens  ;  uH  millefuroribu^  Hit 
Cingitur  adverso  dtmus  immansueta  sub  Hesmo» 
Ferrea  cwnpago  laterum^ferro  arcta  teruntur 
Limma^/erratis  incumbunt  tecta  columnis^  SfC. 

Theb.  1.  7.  40.     . 
^  Grtrmng  from  wmit  of  action,}  This  is  snfficiently  clears  yet 
Mr.  M.  Mason  aiters'it  to— Growing/or  want  of  action. 


154  THE.  Pl^CTUHE; 

With  all  your  rarities.    Aftir  yourljrivailv 
Loo)c  an  our  court  delights ;  but  firat,  from  your 
Bel^ion,.  with. erected  ears  I'll  hear 
The  music  of  your  war,  which  n;mst, be  sweet. 
Ending  in  victory, 

Ferd.  Not  to  trouble.  . 
Your  majesties  with  description  of  a  battle 
Tqo  full  of  horror  for  the  place,  and  to 
Avoid  particulars,  which  should  I  deliver, 
I  must  trench  longer  on  your  patience  than 
My  tnanners  will  give  way  to ; — in  a  word,  siTj^ 
It  was  well  fought  on  both  sides,  and  allmost 
With  equal  fortune,  it  continuing  doubtful 
Upon  whose  tents  plumed  Victory  would  take 
Her  glorious  stand.     Impatient  of  delay. 
With  the  flowerof  our  prime  gentlemen,  I  charged 
Their  main  battalia,  and  w^ith  their  assistance 
Brake  in  ;  but,  when  I  wa^  almost  assured 
That  they  were  routed  by  a  stratagem 
Of  the  subtile  Turk,,  who  opened  his  gross  body^ 
And  rallied  up  his  troops  on  either  side, 
I  foulid  myself  so  far  engaged^  for  I 
Must  not  conceal  my  errors,  that  I  knew  not 
Which  way  with  honour  to  oofne  off, 

Eubu.  I  like 
A  general  that  tells  his  faults,  and  is  not 
Ambitious  to  engross  linto  himself 
All  honour,  as  some  have,  in  which,  with  justice,^ 
Thet  could  not  claim  a  shafe. 

Ferd.  Being  thus  hemmM  in,' 
Their  scimitars  raged  among  us }  and,  my  hors^ 
Kiird  under  me,  I  every  minute  look'd  for 
An  honourable  end,  and  that  was  all 
My  hope  cquld  fashioh  to  ihe ;  cii*cled  thus 
With  death  and  horror,  as  one  sent  from  heaven, 
This  man  of  men,  with  some  choice  horse,  that 
follpw'd 


THE\PJCTURE. 


155 


H  isr  htzve  example, ,  did/  pursuec  tlae  track!  i 
His  sword  cut  ror  them,  and,. but. ths^t  Imc  him 
AlreSidy  l)lush  to  h^ear  what  be,  being  present, 
I  know  would  wish- unspoken,  I  should  say,  sii^* 
By  what  he  did,  we  boldly  may  believe 
4^11  that  is  writ  of  Hecton 

Math.  General, 
Pray  spare  these  strange  hypcirboles* 

Eubu.  Do  not  blush 
To  hear  a  truth ;  herolare  a  pair  of  monaieurs. 
Had  they  been  in  your  place,  would  hav«  run 

away. 
And  ne^er  changed  countenance. 

U6ald.  We  have  your  go^dvword  stilU 

Eubu.  And  shall,  while  you  deserve  iU 

Ladis.  Silence ;  on. 

Ffird.  He,  as  I  said^.  like  dreadful  lightning 
thrown 
From  Jupiter's  shield,  dispersed  the  armed  gire 
With  which  I  was  environjed  ;  hoirse  and  man 
Shrunk  under  his  strong  arm :    more,  with  his 

looks* 
Frighted,  the  valiant  fled,  with  which  encouiaged, 
My  soldiers,  (like  young  eaglets  preying  under 
The  wingd  of  their  fierce  dam,)  as  if  from  him 
They  took  both  spirit  and  fire,  bravely  came  on* 
By  him -I  was  remounted,  and  inspired 
With  trqble  courage ;  and  such  as  fled  before ' 
Boldly  made  head  again ;  and,  to  confirm  them. 
It  suddenly  was  apparent,  that  the  fortune 
Of  the  day  was  ours ;  each  soldier  and  commander 
Performed  his  part ;  but  this  was  the  great  wheel' 

--*-  more,  tpitk  hit  looks  &c«]  i.  e.  jet 


^»«*i 


more,  further/ &c* 
7  '  _,^ 


— -^  hut  tkU  woi  the  greai  wied  &gJ}  This 
k  the  third  or  fourth  time  that  we  hate  had  this  expression.  It 
i»  certainty  bo  felony  for  a  man  to  steal  from  himself,  but  it  it 


:156  THE   PICTURE. 

By  which  the  lesser  moved;. and, all  rewards 
And  signs  of  honour,  as  the  civic  garland. 
The  mural  wreath,  the  enemy's  prime  horse, 
With  the  general's  sword,  and  armour,  (the  old 

honours « 
With  which  the  Romans  crown'd  their  several 

leaders,) 
To  him  alone  are  proper. 

Ladis.  And  they  shall 
Deservedly  fall  on  him.    Sit ;  'tis  our  pleasure, 
r  Ferd.  Which  I  must  serve,  not  argue. 

Hon,  You  are  a  stranger, 
But,  in  your  service  for  the  king,  a  native. 
And,  though  a  free  queen,  I  am  bound  in  duty 
To xherish. virtue  wheresoe'er  I  find  it: 
This  place  is  yours. 
'    Math.  It  were  presumption  in  me 
To  sit  so  near  you. 
:  Hon.  Not  having  our  warrant.     IMitsic  within. 

Ladis.  Let  the  masquers,  enter :  by  the  prepa- 
ration, 
Tis  a  French  brawl,  an  apish  imitation 
Of  what  you  really  perform  in  battle  : 
And  Pallas,  bound  up  in  a  little'  volume, 
Apollo,  with  his  lute,  attending  on  her, 
S«rve  for  the  induction. 

neterthel^ss  a  tery  awkward  way  of  relieving  bis  necessities.  It 
is  surprising  how  seldom  these  repetitions  occur  in  Shakspeare. 
When  we  consider  how  much  he  wrote,  the  exuberance  of  his 
resources  will  appear  truly  wonderful. 

Massinger  seems  to  be  indebted  to:  Daniel  for  the  original 
idea: 

^^  For  this  great  motion  of  a  state,  we  see, 

^^.Dothtume  on  many  wheels;  and  some,,  though  &naU^ 
<^  Do  yet  the  greater  movcy  who  in  degree 

^^  Stirre  those  who  likewise  turne  the  great'stof  all." 

Phthtoi. 
*  And  PaikSf  bound,  up  m  aJittle  vp/Mm<r,]  See  toK  i«  p%  965. . 


THE  PICTURE.  157 


•    Enter  masquers,  S^c. :  Pallas,  accom^nied  by 

A^olLo  on  the  lute. 

:  Though  we  contemplate  to  ea'press^  \ 

The  glory  of  your  happiness^ 
Thaty  by  your  powerful  arm,  have  been 

So  true  a  victor,  that  no  sin 
Could  ever  taint  you  with  a  blame 

To  lessen  your  deserved  fame. 

Orj  though  we  contend  to  set 

Your  worth  in  the  full  height,  or  get 
.    Celestial  singers  crown' d  with  bays. 
With  Jlourishes  to  dress  your  praise  : 
You  know  your  conquest ;  but  your  story 
.  Lives  in  your  triumphant  glory. 

[A  Dance. 

Ladis.  Our  thanks  to  all. 
To  the  banquet  that's  prepared  to  entertain  them : 
—  [Exeunt  Masquers,  Apollo,  and  Pallas. 
What  would  my  best  Honoria  ? 

Hon.  May  it  please 
My  king,  that  I,  who,  by  his  suffrage,  ever 
Have  had  power  to  command,  may  now  entreat 
An  honour  from  him. 

Ladisi  Why  should  you  desire 
What  is  your  own  ?  whate'er  it  be,  you  arft. 
The  mistress  of  it. 

•  9  Thougfi  wf  &cJ]  1,  don't  .think  M^ssinger  excels  in,yft%tlng 
iongs>;  there  are  none  to  be  found  in  these  plajs  that  have  any 
degree  of  merit,  and  few  that  are  even  intelligible.  M.  MAsoir. 
This  song  is  evidently  incomplete.  From  the  stage  direction, 
^^  a  song  in  praise  of  the  victorious  soldier,"  it  would  seem  as 
if  the  care  of  these  things  had  been  left  to  the  prompter.  Just 
jtbove.  (p.  153).  we  have  ^^  a  song  in  praise  of  war '/'  and,  in  the 
following  act;  another,  .^^  on  pieasnra.'' 


< 


1*8  THE  PICTURE. 

Hon.  I  am  bappy  in 
Your  grant:   my  aait|  sir,  is,  that  your  cam« 

mandcrS) 
Especially  this  stranger,  may,  as  I, 
In  my  discretion,  shall  think  good,  receive 
What's  due  to  their  deserts. 

Ladis.  What  you  determine; 
JShall  know  no  alteration^ 

Eubu.  The  soldier 
Is  like  to  have  good  usage,  when  he  depends 
Upon  her  pleasure !  Are  all  the  men  so  bad, 
That,  to  give  satisfaction,  ve  must  have 
A  woman  treasurer  ?  Heaven  help  all ! 

jETi^n.  With. you,  sir,  ^    [Te^Mathias. 

I  will  begin,  and,  as  in  my  esteem 
You  are  most  eminent,  expect  to  have 
What's  tit  for  me  to  give,  and  you  to  take. 
The  faTour  in  the  quick  dispatch  being  double, 
Go  fetch  my  casket,  and  with  speed. 

[E^dt  Acanthe. 

Eubu.  The  kingdom 
Is  very  bare  of  money,  when"reward3 
Issue  from  the  queen's  j^ewel-house*    Give  him 

gold 
And  store,^  no  question  the  gentleman  wants  it. 
Good  madam,  what  shall  he  do  with  a  hoop  ring, 
And  a  spark  of  diamond  in  it  ?  though  you  take  it. 

Re-enter  Acakthe  mth  a  Cwhet* 

For  the  greater  honour,  from  your  majesty's 

finger, 
'I'will  not  increase  the  value^   He  must  purchase 


Qivt  him  gold 


AMditore^]    This  ezpresiion,  which  is  taken  from  «n  ol4 
ballad,  frequently  i>€carf  in  these  plajs. 


tHfi  PICTURE.  159 

Bich  suirt,  the  gay  caparison  of  courtship,* 
Eevel  eLTkA  feast,  which,  the  war  ended,  is 
A  soldier's  glory ;  and  'tis  fit  that  way 
Your  bounty  should  provide  for  him, 

Hon*  You  are  riide. 
And  by  your  narrow  thoughts  proportion  mine^ 
What  I  will  do  now  shall  he  worth  the  envy 
Of  Cleopatra.    Open  it ;  see  here 

iHonQriackscendsJrom  the  state* 
The  lapidary's  idol !  Gold  is  trash, 
And  a  poor  salary  fit  for  grooms ;  wear  these, 
As  studded  stars  in  your  armour^  and  make  the 

sun 
Look  dim  with  jealousy  of  a  greater  light 
Than  his  beams  gild  the  day  with  :  when  it  is 
Exposed  to  view,  call  it  Honoria's  gift, 
The  queen  Honoria's  gift,  that  loves  a  soldier ; 
Ai)d|  to  give  ornament  and  lustre  to  him. 
Parts  freely  with  her  own !  Yet,  not  to  take 
{*ram  the  magnificence  of  the  king,  I  wiU 


•fw 


He  must  purchase 


Bich  s^its^  the  gay  eomparison  <rf  courtship^  So  H  is  prrnted 
|n  the  old  copy :  the  modem  editors  have  reformed  the  spelling, 
and,  it  may  be,  they  ha?o  done  well ;  yei  the  word  occurs  so 
frequently  in  our  old  dramatists,  that  I  have  many  doubts  on 
the  subject. 

In  tie  DoAk  F^heidad^  a  pi&f  whtcb  Theobald  attributed  to 
Shakspeare,  but  which  Pope,  and  bis  little  knot  of  critics, 
(without  seeotg'  the  honoar  ^tm^  taim,)  affected  t#  bdiei e  hip 
9WB9  are  these  pretty  lineS  t 

■   .  ^*  I  must  stoop  to  gain  her, 

^*  Throw  aill  my  gay  comparisons  aside,  ' 
^^  ^nd  turn  my  proud  additions  out  of  serYice,** 

CoiHparUom  they  changed,  with  great  exultation  over  poor 
Theobald,  ij[lto  caparisons ;  but  had  they  known^  or  ^ould  he 
laTe  informed  ^iiern;  that  the  word  was  so  spelc  by  every  author 
of  that  ag^i  it  might,  perhaps,  hare  moderated  the  excess  of 
their  triumph.  Courtshipy  which  is  found  in  the  same  llnCi  nlg- 
nifies  the  cost  and  magnificence  of  a  court. 


160  THE  PICTURE. 

Dispense  his  bounty  too,  but  as  a  page 
To  wait  on  mine;  for  other  tosses,'  take 
A  hundred  thousand  crowns : — ^your  hand,  dear 
jsir —  [Takes  off  the  king's  signet • 

And  this  shall  be  thy  warrant. 

Eubu.  I  perceive 
I  was  cheated  in  this  woman :  now  she  is 
In  the  giving  vein  to  soldiers,  let  her  be  proud, 
And  the  king  dote,  so  she  go  on,  I  care  not. 

Hon.  This  done,  our  pleasure  is,  that  all  ar^ 
rearages* 
Be  paid  unto  the  captains,  and  their  troops ; 
With  a  large  donative,  to  increase  their  zeal 
For  the  service  of  the  kingdom. 

Eubu.  Better  still : 
Let  men  of  arms  be  used  thus,  if  they  do  not 
Charge  desperately  upon  the  cannon's  mouth,    . 
Though  the  devil  roar'U,  and  fight  like  dragons, 

hang  me ! 
Now  they  may  drink  sack;  but  small  beer,. with 

a  passport 
To  beg  with  as  they  travel,  and  no  money, 
Turns  their  red  blood  to  buttermilk. 

,Hon.  Are  you  pleased,  sir. 
With  what  I  have  done  ? 


'for  other  tosses,  take  &c.]  Meaning, 


perhaps,  In  the  slight  manner  in  which  she  notices  this  part  of 
her  bonnty^/or  tra$h. to  fling  away.  Coxeter  having  negligently 
printed  losseSj  obsenres  on  his  own  blunder,  '^  this,  I  am  apt  to 
think  should  be, /or  other  uses  takcy**  and  nothing  more  was 
wanted  to  induce  Mr.  M.  MasOn  to  thrust  it  into  the  text ! 
To8s  is  used  by  Decker  in  a  way  that  would  induce  one  to  think 
it  meant  low  play,  or  a  hazard  of  petty  sums — ^^  0  brare  fresh 
air,"  says  the  profligate  Matheo,  ''  a  p —  on  these  grates,  and 
gingling  of  keys,  and  rattling  of  iron!  Til  bear  np,  I'll  fly 
high :  hang  toase  /"       Honest  Whore. 

4 f^^  fj^i  arrearages]    This  wordy 

I  know  not  why,  the  modern  editors  discard  for  arrears. 


THE  PICTUBE. 


Iff] 


Ladis.  TeSy  and  thus  confirm  it, 
Wish  this  addition  of  mine  own :  You  have,  sir. 
From  our  loved  queen  received  some  recompense 
Tor  your  life  hazarded  in  the  late  action ; 
And,  that  we  may  follow  her  great  example 
In  cherishing  valour,  without  timit  ask 
What  you  from  us  can  wish. 

Math.  If  it  be  true, 
Dread  sir,  as  'tis  affirm 'd,  that  every  soil, 
Where  he  is  well,  is  to  a  valiant  man 
His  natural  country,  reason  may  assure  me 
I  should  fix  here,  where  blessings  beyond  hope, 
From  you,  the  spring,  like  rivers,  flow  unto  me. 
If  wealth  were  my  ambition,  by  the  queen 
I  am  made  rich  already,  to  the  amazement 
Of  all  that  see,  or  shall  hereafter  read 
The  story  of  her  bounty ;  if  to  spend 
The  remnant  of  my  life  in  deeds  of  arms. 
No  region  is  more  fertile  of  good  knights, 
From  whom  my  knowledge  that  way  may  be 

better'd. 
Than  this  your  warlike  Hungary ;  if  favour, 
Or  grace  in  court  could  take  me,  by  your  grant, 
Far,  far,  beyond  my  merit,  I  may  make 
In  yours  a  free  election  ;  but,  alas  !  sir, 
I  am  not  mine  own,  but  by  my  destiny 
(Which  I  cannot  resist)  forced  to  prefer 
My  country's  smoke,  befor^  the  glorious  fire 
With  which  your  bounties  warm  me.    All  I  ask,. 

sir. 
Though  I  cannot  be  ignorant  it  must  relish 
Of  foul  ingratitude,  is  your  gracious  license 
For -my  departure. 

Ladis.  Whither? 

Math.  To  my  own  home,  sir, 
•  My  own  poor  home;  which  will,  at  my  return,  . 
Grow  rich  by  your  magnificence.    I  am  here 


15«  THE  1>ICTURE. 

But  a  body  without  a  soul ;  and^  till  I£nd  it 
In  the  embraces  of  my  constant  wife, 
And,  to  set  off  that  constancy,  in  her  beauty 
And  matchless  exceHencies  witbont  a  rivai> 
I  am  ftut  half  toywlf. 

Hon.  And  is  she  theii 
So  chaste  and  fair  as  you  infer? 

Math.  Oy  madam. 
Though  it  must  argue- Aveakness  in  a  tich  man> 
To  shew  his  gold  before  an  armed  thief, 
And  I,  in  praising  of  my  wife,  but  feed 
The  iireof  }ust  in  others  to  attempt  h^t;*  ^ 

Such  is  my  full-saird  confidence  in  her  virtue^ 
Though  in  my  absence  she  were  now  besieged 
By  a  strong  army  of  lascivious  wooei^, 
And  every  one  more  expert  in  his  art, 
.Than  those  that  tempted  chase^  Penelope ; 
Though  they  raised  batteries  by  prodigal  gifts, 
By  amorous  letters,  vows  made  for  her  service,' 
With  all  the  engines  wanton  appetite 
Could  mount  to  sliake  the  fortress  of  her  honour, 
Here,  here  is  mj  assurance  slie  holds  out, ' 

[Kmes  the  picturt. 
And  is  impregnable. 

Hon.  What's  that? 

Math.  Her  fair  figure.  '  * 

Ladis.  As  I  live,  an  excellent  face  ! 

Hon.  You  have  seen  a  better. 

Ladis.  I  ever  except  yours  :* — nay,  frown  pot> 
sweetest, 
The  Cyprian  queen,  compared  to  you,  in  my 

^  Ladii.  I  erer  except  yours ! — nay^frtmn  not^  ^^eetest^  This 
line  stands  thus  in  the  modern  editions :  • 

Ladis.  I!  ne'er,  except ymtrs ;  nay^fr<mnnotj  sweetest i 

-which  is  the  perfection  of  taste  and  harmony :  the  old  copy  reads 
as  I  hare  giTen  it. 


THE  PICTURE.  i6S 

Opinion,  is  a  negro.    As  you  otder'd^  . 
I'll  see  the  soldiers  paid ;  and,  in  nay'abseaoey 
Pray  you  use  your  povirerful  arguflicntd^  to  »tay 
This  gentleman  in  our  service.  ' 

Hon.  I  will  do 
My  parts. 

Ladis.  On  to  t^e  camp. 

[Exeunt  Ladislaus,  Ferdinand,  JSubuius, 
Baptista^  and  Officers. 

Hon.  I  am  full  of  thoughts. 
And  something  there  is  here  I  must  sive  form  to, 
Thoug^i,  yet  an^emhiyon :  [Ande.^  Vou,  signiors. 
Have  no  businesswith  the  soldl<er,  asl  take  it. 
You  are  for  other  warfare ;  quit  the  place, 
But  be  within  call. 

Ric,  Employment,  on  my  life,  boy !  i  ' 

Ubald.  If  it  lie  in  our  road,  we  are  made  for 
ever.  [Exeunt  Ubaldo  and  Ricardo^ 

Hon.  You  may  perceive  the  king  is  no  way 
tainted 
With  the  disease  of  jealousy,  since  he  leaves  me 
Thus  private  with  you. 

iMath.  It  were  in  him,  madam, 
A  sin  unpardonable  to  distrust  such  pureness, 
Though  I  were  mn  Adonis. 

Hon.  I  presume 
He  neither  does  nor  dares :  and  yet  the  stdry 
Delivered  of  you  by  the  general. 
With  your  heroic  courage,  which  jinks  deeply 
Into  a  knowing  woman's  heart,  besides 
Your  promising '  presence^   might   beget  some 

scruple 
In  a  meaner  man ;  but  more  of  this  'hereafter. 
I'll  take  another  theme  now,  and  conjure  you 
By  the  honours  you. have  won,  and  by  the  love 
Sacred  to  your  dear  wife,  to  answer  truly 
To  what  I  shall  demand.  \    .   \ 


164  THE   PICTURE/ 

Math*  You  need  not  use 
Charms  to  this  purpose,  madam. 

Ham.  Tell  me,  then, 
Being  yourself  assured  'tis  not  in  njan 
To  sully  with  one  spot  th'  immaculate  whiteness 
Of  your  wife's  honour,  if  you  have  not,  since 
The  Gordian  of  your  love  was  tied  by  marriage, 
Play'd  false  with  her? 

Math.  By  the  hopes  of  mercy,  never. 

Hon.    It   may  be,  not  frequenting  the^  con- 
verse 
Of  handsome  ladies,  you  were  never  tempted, 
And  so  your  faith's  untried  yet. 

Math.  Surely,  madam, 
I  am  no  woman-hater;  I  have  been 
Received  to  the  society  of  the  best 
And  fairest  of  our  climate,  and  have,  met  with* 
No  common  entertainment,  yet  ne'er  felt 
The  least  heat  that  way. 

Hon.  Strange !  and  do  you  think  still, 
The  earth  can  shew  no  beauty  that  can  drench 
In  Lethe  all  remembrance  of  the.  favour 
You  now  bear  to  your  own? 

Math.  Nature  must  find  out 
Some  other  mould  to  fashion  a  new.  creature 
Fairer  than  her  Pandora,  ere  I  prove 
Guilty,  or  in  my  wishes  or  my  thoughts, 
To  my  Sophia. 

H6n.  Sir,  consider  better ; 
Not  one  in  our  whole. sex  ? 
.  Math.  I  am  constant  to 
My  resolution. 

Horn.  But  dare  you  stand 
The  opposition^  and  bind  yourself. 
By  oath  for  the  performance? 

Math.  My  faith  else    . 
Had  but  a  weak  foundation*  *    i 


I 

\ 


THE  PICTURE.  i6S 

Hon.  I,  take  hol<! 
Upon  your  promise,  and  enjoin  your  stay 
For  one  montn  here. 

Math,  I  am  caught !  [Aside. 

Hon.  And  if  I  do  not 
Produce  a  lady,  in  that  time,  that  shall 
Make  you  confess  your  error,  I  submit 
Myself  to  any  penalty  you  shall  please 
To  impose  upon  nie:  in  the  mean  space,  write 
To  your  chaste  wife,  acquaint  her  with  your  for-, 

tune : 
Tlie  jewels  that  were  mine  you  may  send  to  her, 
For  oetter  confirmation.    I'll  provide  you 
Of  trusty  messengers  :  but  how  far  distant  is  she? 

Math.  A  day's  hafd  riding. 

Hon.  There  is  no  retiring ; 
I'll  bind  you  to  your  word. 

Math.  Well,  since  there  is 
No  way  to  shun  it,  I  will  stand  the  hazard, 
And  instantly  make  ready  my  dispatch  : 
Till  then,  I'll  leave  yourmajesty*  lEa;it. 

Hon.  How  I  burst 
With  envy,  that  there  lives,  besides  myself, 
One  fair  and  loyal  woman  !  'twas  the  end 
Of  my  ambition  to  be  recorded 
The  only  wonder  of  the  age,  and  shall  I 
Give  way  to  a  competitor?  Nay  more, 
To  add  to  my  affliction,  the  assurances 
That- 1  placea  in  my  beauty  have  deceived  me  : 
I  thougnt  one  amorous  glance  of  minecould  bring 
All  heaftd  to  my  subjection ;  but  this  stranger. 
Unmoved  as  rocks,  contemns  me.    But  I  cannot 
Sit  down  so  with  mine  honour :  I  will  gain 
A  double  victory,  by  working  him 
To  my  desire,  and  taint  her  in  her  honour. 
Or  lose  myself:  I  have  read  that  liomctime  poison 
Is  useful. — To  supplant  her,  I'll  employ, 

VOL.  III.  •  N 


166  THE  PICTURE. 

ft 

With  any  cost,  Ubaldo  and  Ricardo, 
Two  noted  courtiers,  of  approved  cunning 
In  all  the  windings  of  lust's  labyrinth ; 
And  in  corrupting  him,  I  will  outgo 
Nero's  Poppae^^ :  if  he  shut  his  cars 
Against  my  Syren  notes,  I'll  boldly  swear, 
Ulysses  lives  again  ;  or  that  I  h^ve  found 
A  frozen  cynic/  cold  in  spite  of  all 
Allurements ;  one  whom  beauty  cannot  move, 
Nor  softest  blandishments  entice  to  love.     [£«r;V. 


ACT  III.    SCENE  L 

Bohemia*    A  Space  near  the  Entrance  g/*Mathias* 

House. 

EnterUiLAKio^with  a  pitcher  ofwater^  andawallet. 

HiL  Thin,  thin  provision  !  I  am  dieted 
Like  one  set  to  watch  hawks;  and,  to  keep  mc 

waking,     , 
My  croaking  guts  make  a  perpetual  larum. 
Here  I  stand  centinel ;  and,  though  I  fright 
Beggar's  from  my  lady's  gate,  in  hope  to  have 
'  A  greater  share,  I  find  my  commons  mend  not. 


or  that. I  have  found 


Afrozm  cynic,  &c,]  I  doubt  whether  her  m^esty  was  well 
read  in  the  characteristics  of  the  different  sects.  The  cynics 
wanted  little  allurement;  the  modestest  of  them  would  have 
met  her  advances  more  than  half  way :  but  perhaps  she  meant 
to  say  Stoic.  This  lady  is  of  a  most  unamiabl^  character.  Her 
Tanity,  which  she  mistakes  for  ambition,  is  excessive;  and  her 
eagerness  to  gratify  it,  detestable  in  the  extreme.  She  is  chaste 
from  temperament,  and  licentioas  frotn  indulgence* 


THE  PICTURE.  167 

I  look'd  this  morning  in  my  glass,  the  river, 
And  there  appear'd  a  fish  call'd  a  poor  John,' 
Cut  with  a  lenten  face,  in  ihy  own  likeness ; 
And  it  seem'd  to  speak,  and  say,  Good  morrow, 

cousin  ! 
No  man  comes  this  way  but  has  a  fling  at  me: 
A  surgeon  passing  by,  ask'd  at  what  rate 
I  would  sell  myself;  I  answered;  For  what  use? 
To  make,  said  he,  a  living  anatomy. 
And  set  thee  up  in  our  hall,  for  thou  art  trans- 
parent 
Without  dissection  ;  and,  indeed,  he  had  reason  : 
For  I  am  scour'd  with  this  ppor  purge'  to  nothing. 
They  say  that  hunger  dwells  in  the  camp  ;  but  till 
My  lord  returns,  or  certain  tidings  of  him, 
He  will  not  part  with  me  : — but  sorrow's  dry, 
•And  I  must  drink  howsoever. 

-Eii^er  Ubaldo,  Ricardo,  and  a  Guide. 

Guide.  That's  her  castle. 
Upon  my  certain  knowledge. 

Ubald.  Our  horses  held  out 
To  my  desire.     I  am  afire  to  be  at  it. 

Ric.  Take  the  jades  for  thy  reward ;  before  I 
'  part  hence, 
I  hope  to  be  better  carried*  Give  me  the  cabinet : 
So ;  leave  us  now. 

Guide.  Good  fortune  to  you,  gallants !    [Exit. 


7  ■■■    ■  >        ajhh  ealCd  a  poor  John,]  i.  e.  drie4 

kake.    See  rol.  ii.  p.  126.    it  occurs  again  in  tU  Guardian : 

^^  Or  IWe,  like  a  Carthnsian,  on  poor  John,^* 

•  * 

'  For  I  am  icoufd  with  this  poor  purge  to  nothing.  ]    So  the 
old  copies ;  the  modern  editors  read,  with  this  poor  porrid^  : 
Ijut  whether  out  of  delicacj,  or  to  improve  the  sense  and  metre, 
.  J[  cannot  sa^. 

»N2 


168  THE  PICTURE. 

Ubald.  Being  joint  agents,  in  a  design  of  trust 
too, 
Forthe  service  of  the  c^ueen,  and  our  own  pleasure, 
Let  us  proceed  with  judgment. 

Ric.  If  I  take  not 
This  fort  at  the  first  assault,  make  me  an  eunuch  ; 
So  I  may  have  precedence, 

Xlbald.  On  no  terms. 
We  are  both  to  play  one  prize ;  ht  that  works  best 
In  the  searching  of  this  mine,  shall  carry  it, 
Without  contention. 

Ric.  Make  you  your  approaches 
As  I  directed. 

Ubald.  I  need  no  instruction ; 
I  work  not  on  your  anvil.    I'llgive  fire 
With  mine  own  linstock ;  if  the  powder  be  dank, 
The  devil  rend  the  touch-hole !    Who  have  we 

here? 
What  skeleton's  this? 

Ric.  A  ghost !  or  the  image  of  famine ! 
Where  dost  thou  dwell  ? 

Hil.  Dwell,  sir !  my  dwelling  is 
In  the  highway  :  that  goodly  house  was  onct 
My  habitation,  but  I  am  banished, 
And  cannot  be  call'd  home  till  news  arrive 
Of  the  good  knight  Mathias. 

Ric.  If  that  will 
Restore  thee,  thou  art  safe. 

Ubald.  We  come  from  him,  . 
With  presents  to  his  lady. 

Hili  But,  are  you  sure 
He  is  in  health  ? 

RicJ  Nevtr  so  well :  conduct  us   . 
.  To  the  lady.      . 

SiL  ThoAigh  a.  poor  snake,  I  will  lea{> 
Out  of  my  skin  for  joy.     Break,  pitcher,  break ! 
And  wallet^  late  my  cupboard,  I  bequeath  thee 


THE  ^PICTURE,  J(?d 

To  the  next  beggar ;  thou,  red  herring,  switn 
To  the  Red  Sea  again  :  niethinks  I  am  already 
l^nuckle  deep  in    the   fleshpots ;    and^   though 

waking,  dream 
Of  wine  and  plenty  ! 

Ric.  What's  the  mystery 
Of  tbis,strange  passion  ? 

Hil.  My  belly,  gentlemen, 
Will  not  give  me  leave  to  tell  you;  when  I  have 

brought  yqu 
To  my  lady's  presence,  I  am  disenchanted : 
There  you  shall  know  all.    Follow ;  if  I  outstrip 

you. 
Know  I  run  for  my.  belly. 
Ubald.  A  mad  fellow^  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IL 

.A  Room  in  Mathias'  Hoiise. 
Enter  Sophia  and  Corisca. 

Soph.  Do  not  again  delude  me« 
Coris.  If  I  do, 
Send  me  a  grazing  with  iqy  fellow,  Hilario.* 
I  stood,  as  you  comms^nded,  in  the  turret, 
Observing  all  that  pass'd  by ;  and  even  now, 
I  did  discern  a  pair  of  cavaliers, 
For  9uch  their  outside  spokq  them,  with  their 

guide. 
Dismounting  from  their  horses ;  they  said  some- 
thing 

•  Send  me  a  grazing  foiih  my  fellow  HUano,']  i.  e.  my  fellow* 
lertant.  £f  en  this  simple  expression  cannot  escape  the  ever* 
neddliog  delicacy  of  Mr.  M.  Mason :  ho  alters  it  to— iRjr  friend 
Hilario  ; 


170  THE   PICTURE. 

«  « 

To  our  hungry  centinel,  that  made  hirh  capei* 
And  frisk  in  the  air  for  joy :  and,  to  confirm  thtSj 
See,  madam,  tiieyVcin  view. 

Enter  Hilario,  Ubaldo,  and  Ricardo. 

Hil.  News  from  milord! 
Tidings  of  joy  !  these  are  no  counterfeits, 
But  knights  indeed.  Dear  madam,  sign  my  pardon. 
That  I  may  feed  again,  and  pick  up  my  crumbs  j 
I  have  had  a  long  fast  of  it. 

Soph.  Eat,  I  forgive  thee. 

Hil.  O  comfortable  words!  Eat ,  I  for  give  thee  / 
And  if  in  this  I  do  not  soon  obey  you. 
And  ram  in  to  th6  purpose,  billet  me  again 
In  the  highway.     Butler  and  cook,  be  ready, 
For  I  enter  like  a  tyrant.  lEsit^ 

Uhald.  Since  mine  eyes 
Were  never  happy  in  so  sweet  an  object, 
Without  inquiry,  I  presume  you  are 
The  lady  of  the  house,  and  so  salute  you.* 

Ric.  This  letter,  with  these  jewels,  from  your 
lord. 
Warrant  my  boldness,  madam. 

[Delivers  a  letter  and  a  casket. 

Ubald.  In  being  a  servant 
To  such  rare  beauty,  you  must  needs  deserve 
'This  courtesy  from  a  stranger.     [Salutes  Corisca. 

Ric^  You  are  still 
Beforehand  with  me-    Pretty  one,  I  descend 

'  <  The  lady  of  the  house j  and  so  salute  you,}  i.  e.  as  such  i  Mr« 
M.  Mason,  not  satisfied  with  this,  reforms  the  textj  and  prints— 
and  do  salute  you.  The  reader  cannot  be  more  Wearj  of  these 
eternal  corrections,  than  myself.  I  Ument  that  it  is  necessaiy, 
for  both  our  sakes,  to  notice  a  certain  portion  of  them  in  thia 
vay,  (all,  is  impossible,)  lest  I  should  be  suspected  of  capricu 
ously  deviating  from  the  text  pf  my  predecessors. 


THE  PICTURE.  171 

To  take  the  height  of  your  lip  ;  and,  if  I  miss 

In  the  altitude,  hereafter,  if  you  please, 

I  will  make  use  of  my  Jacob's  staff.  [Salutes  Coris. 

Coris.  These  gentlemen 
Have  certainly  had  good -breeding,  as  it  appears 
By  their  neat  kissing,^  they  hit  me  so  pat  on  the 

lips, 
At  the  first  sight. 

[In  the  interim,  Sophia  reads  the  lettery  and 
opens  the  casket.  - 

Soph.  Heaven,  in  thy  mercy,  make  me 
Thy  thankful  handmaid  for  this  boundless  bles* 

sing. 
In  thy  goodness  shower'd  upon  me ! 

Ubald.  I  do  not  like 
This  simple  devotion  in  her;  it  is  seldom 
Practised  among  my  mistresses. 

Ric.  Or  mine. 
Would  they  kneel  to  I  know  not  who,  for  the 

possession 
Of  sucn  inestimable  wealth,  before 
They  thank'd  the  bringers  of  it  ?  the  poor  lady 
Does  want  instruction,  but  I'll  be  her  tutor^ 
And  read  her  another  lesson. 

Soph.  If  I  have 
Shewn  want  of  manners,  gentlemen,  in  my  slow 

ness    ^ 
To  pay  the  thanks  I  owe" you  for  your  travail. 
To  00  my  lord  and  me,  howc'er  unworthy 
Of  such  a  benefit,  this  noble  favour, 
Impute  it,  iu  your  clemency,  to  the  excess 
Ofjoy  that  overwhelmed  me. 

Kic.  She  speaks  well. 

Ubald.  Polite  and  courtly. 

Soph.  And  howe'er  it  may 
increase  the  offence,  to  trouble  you  with  more 
Demands  touching  my  lord,  before  I  have 


173  THE  PICTURE, 

Invited  you  to  taste*  such  as  the  coarseness 
Of  my  poor  house  can  offer ;  pray  you  connivo 
On  my  weak  tenderness,  though  I  entreat 
To  learn  from  you  something  he  hath,  it  may  be, 
In  his  letter  left  unmention'd. 

JRic.  I  can  only 
Give  you  assurance  that  he  is  in  health. 
Graced  by  the  king  and  queen. 

Ubald^  And  in  the  Court 
With  admiration  look'd  on. 

Ric.  You  m\ist  therefore 
Put  off  these  widow's  garments^  and  appear 
Lrke  to  yourself. 

Ubald.  And  entertain  all  pleasures 
Your  fortune  marks  out  for  you. 

-Ric.  There  are  other 
Particular  privacies,  which  on  occasion 
I  will  deliver  to  you. 

Soph.  You  oblige  me 
To  your  service  ever. 

Ric.  Good  !  your  service;  ihark  that. 

Soph.  In  the  mean  time,  by  your  good  accept* 
ance  make 
My  rustic  entertainment  relish  of 
The  curiousness  of  the  court. 

Ubald.  Your  looks,  sweet  madam. 
Cannot  but  make  each  dish  a  feast. 

Soph.  It  shall  be 
Such,  in  the  freedom  of  my  will  to  please  you. 
I'll  shew  you  the  way :  'this  is  too  great  an  honour, 
From  such  brave  guests,  to  me  so  mean  an  hostess. 

[Exeunt  f 

*  Invited  you  to  taste]  The  quarto  reads,  In?ited  you  to  reitt 
luch  as,  &c.  perhaps  correctly,  certainly  intelligibly:  but  I  ba?e 
not  disturbed  the  imaginary  improvement  of  the  former  editors. 


THE  PICTURE.  173 


-        SCENE   III. 

Alba  Regalis.    An  Outer-room  in  the  Palace^ 

Enter  Acanthe,  and  four  or  Jive  Servants  with 

visors.^ 

Acan.  You  know  your  charge;  give  itactioii,^ 
and  expect 
Rewards  beyond  your  hopes. 

1  Serv.  If  we  but  eye  them, 
They  are  ours,  I  warrant  you, 

2  Serv.  May  we  not  ask  why 
We  are  put  upon  this? 

Acan.  Let  that  stop  your  mouth ; 

\Gives  them  mon^. 
And  learn  more  manners,  groom.    "Us  upon  the 

hour 
In  which  they  use  to  walk  here :  when  you  have 

them 
In  your  power,  with  violence  carry  them  to  the 

place 
Where  I  appointed ;  there  I  will  expect  you  : 
Be  bold  and  careful.  ^  [Ejpit. 

Enter  Mathias  and  Baptista. 

1  Serv.  Thesd  are  they. 

2  Sero.  Are  you  sure  ?  - 

1  Sero.  Am  I  sure  I  am  myself? 

*  Enter  Acanthe,  and  four  or  Jive  Servants  in  '0i8or8,'\  The  old 
stage  direction  is,  Enter  Acanthe^  two^  four  or  five  with  vizards: 
i.  e.  such  a  number  as  the  stage  could  conveniently  supply.  The 
editors  not  seeing  this,  have  printed,  Enter  Acanthe  to  four  or 
five  &c.  but  this  is  wrong,  for  they  all  appear  together.         '  , 


{ 


174  THE  PICTURE. 

2  Ser>o.  Seize  on  him  strongly ;  if  he  have  but 
means 
To  draw  his  sword,  'tis  ten  to  one  we  smart  for't : 
Take  all  advantages. 

Math.  I  cannot  guess 
What  her  intents  are ;  but  her  carriage  was 
As  I  but  how  related* 

Bapt.  Your  assurance 
In  the  consjancy  of  your  lady  is  the  armour 
That  must  defend  you.    Where's  the  picture  ? 

Math,  Here, 
And  no  way  alter'd. 

Bapt.  If  she  be  not  perfect, 
There  is  no  truth  in  art. 

Math.  By  this,  I  hope, 
She  hath  received  my  letters. 

Bapt.  Without  question : 
These  courtiers  are  rank  riders,  when  they  arc 
To  visit  a  handsome  lady. 

Math.  Lend  me  your  ear. 
One  piece  of  her  entertainment  will  require 
Your  dearest  privacy. 

1  Serv.  Now  they  stand  fair ; 
Upon  them.  \They  rush  forward. 

Math.  Villains  I 

1  Serv.  Stop  their  mouths.    We  come  not 
To  try  your  valours  :  kill  him,  if  he  offer 
To  ope  his  mouth.     We  have  you  :  'tis  in  vain 
To  make  resistance.     Mount  them,  and  away. 

[^Exeunt  with  MatMas  and  Baptistck 


THE   PICTURE.  175 


SCENE   IV. 

A  Gallery  in  the  same. 

r 

Unter  Servants  with  lights,  Ladislaus,  Ferdi- 
nand, ^w^Eubulus. 

Ladis.  Tis  late.     Go  to  your  rest ;  but  do  not 
f     envy 
The  happiness  I  draw  near  to. 

Eubu.  Ifyou  enjoy  it 
The  moderate  way,  the  sport  yields,  I  confess, 
A  pretty  titillation  ;  but  too  much  oft 
Will  bring  you  on  your  knees.     In  my  younger 

days 
I  was  myself  a  gamester;  and  I  found 
By  sad  experience,  there  is  no  such  soaker 
As  a  young  spongy  wife ;  she  keeps  a  thousand 
Horse-leeches  in  her  box,  and  the  thieves  will 

suck  out  ^ 
Both  blood  and  marrow !  I  feel  a  kind  of  cramp 
In  my  joints,  when  I  think  on't :  but  it  may  be 

*  queens, 
And  such  a  queen  as  yours  is  has  the  art 

Ferd.  You  take  leave. 
To  talk,  my  lord. 

Ladis.  He  may,  since  he  can  do  nothing. 

Eubu.  Ifyou  spend  this  way  too  much  of  your 
royal  stock, 
Ere  long  we  may  be  puefellows. 

Ladis.  The  door  shut  I 
Knock  gently ;  harder.  So,  here  comes  her  woman. 
Take  aff  my  gown. 


176  THE  PICTURE. 


Enter  Acanthe. 

Acan.  My  lord,  the  queen  by  me 
This  night  desires  yoar  pardon. 

Ladk.  How,  Acanthe! 
I  come  by  her  appointment ;  'twas  her  grant ; 
The  motion  was  her  owu« 

Acan.  It  may  be,  sir; 
But  by  her  doctors  she  is  since  advised. 
For  her  health's  sake,  to  forbear, 

Eubu.  I  do  not  lilfe 
This  physical  letchery,  the  old  downright  way,  • 
Is  wortn  a  thousand  on't. 

Ladis.  Prithee,  Acanthe, 
Mediate  for  me,  [Offering  her  a  ring^ 

Eubu.  O  the  fiends  of  hell ! 
Would  any  man  bribe  his  servant,  to  make  way 
To  his  own  wife?  if  this  be  the  court  state. 
Shame  fall  on  such  as  use  it! 

Acan^  By  this  jewel, 
This  night  I  dare  not  move  her,  but  to  morrow 
\  wiH  watch  all  occasions. 

Ladis.  Take  this, 
To  be  mindful  of  me. 

Eubu.  'Slight,  I  thought  a  king 
Might  have  ta'en  up  any  woman  at  the  king's 

price ; 
And  must  he  buy  his  own,  at  a  dearer  rate 
Than  a  stranger  in  a  brothel  ? 

Ladis.  What  is  that^ 
You  mutter,  sir? 

Eubu.  No  treason  to  your  honour  : 
I'll  speak  it  out,  though  it  anger  you;  if  you 

pay  for 
Your  lawful  pleasure  in  some  kind,  great  sir, 
What  do  you  make  the  queen?  cannot  you  clicket 


THE  PICTURE.  177 

Without  a  fee,  or  when  she  has  a  suit 

For  you  to  grant?  [Ladis,  draws  his  swords 

Ferd.  O  hold,  sir  ! 

Ladis.  Off  with  his  head  ! 

Eubu.  Do,  when  you  please ;  you  but  bloMT 
out  a  taper 
That  would  light  your  understanding,  and,  in 

care  oft, 
Is  burnt  down  lo  the  socket.    Be  as  you  are,  sir, 
An  absolute  monarch  :  it  did  shew  more  king-like 
In  those  libidinous  Caesars,  that  compeird 
Matrons  and  virgins  of  all  ranks  to  bow 
Unto  their  ravenous  lusts  ;  and  did  admit 
Of  more  excuse  than  I  can  urge  for  you. 
That  slave  yourself  to  the  imperious  humour 
Of  a  proud  beauty. 

Ladis.  Out  of  my  sight ! 

Eubu.  I  will,  sir, 
Givewaytoyour  furious  passion;  but  when  reason 
Hath  got  the  better  of  it,  I  'much  hope 
The  counsel  that  offends  now  will  deserve 
Your  royal  thanks.     Tranquillity  of  mind 

Stay  with  you,  sir  ! 1  do  begin  to  doubt 

There^s  something  more  in  the  queen's  strange- 
ness than 
Is  yet  disclosed  ;  and  I  will  find  it  out^ 
Or  lose  myself  in  the  search.        {Aside^  and  exiU 

Ferd.  Sure  he  is  honest. 
And  from  your  infancy  hath  truly  served  yoU  : 
Let  that  plead  for  him ;  and  impute  this  harshnes3 
To  the  frowardnesi  of  his  age. 

Ladis.  I  am  much  troubled, 
And  do  begin  to  stagger.  Ferdinand,  good  night! 
To  morrow  visit  us.    Back  to  our  own  lodgings. 

[Exeunt. 


178  THE   PICTURE; 


SCENE  V. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Acanthe  and  the  visored  Servants,  with 
Math  IAS  and  Baptista  blindfolded. 

Acan.  You  have  done  bravely. .  Lock  this  in 
that  room, 
There  let  him  ruminate ;  I'll  anon  unhood  him  : 

\They  carry  off  Baptista. 
The  other  must  stay  here.     As  soon  as  I 
Have  quit  the  place,  give  him  the  liberty 
And  use  of  his  eyes ;  that  done,  disperse  your- 
selves 
.As  privately  as  you  can :  but,  on  your  lives, 
No  word  of  what  hath  passed.  \_Exit. 

1  Sert).  If  I  do,  sell 
My  tongue  to  a  tripe-wife.     Come,  unbind  his 

arms: 
You  are  now  at  your  own  disposure;  and  however 
We  used  you  roughly,  I  hope  you  will  find  here 
Such  entertainment  as  will  give  you  cause 
To  thank  us  for  the  service  :  and  so  I  leave  you.' 

[Exeunt  Servants* 

Math.  If  I  am  in  a  prison,  'tis  a  neat  one. 
What  (Edipus  can  resolve  this  riddle  ?  Ha ! 
I  never  gave  just  cause  to  any  man 
Basely  to  plot  against  my  life : — But  what  is 
Become  of  my  true  friend  ?  for  him  I  suffer 
More  than  myself. 

Acan.  [within.]  Remove  that  idle  fear; 
He's  safe  as  you  are. 

Math.  Whosoe'er  thou,  art, 


-and  so  I  leave  you.']  Thus  tbe  quarto ; 


the  modern  editors,  but  less  properlj,  and  so  we  leave  you» 


THE  PICTURE.  179 

For  him  I  thank  thee.     I  cannot  imagine 
Where  I  should  be :  though  I  have  read  the  tales* 
Of  errant-knighthood,  stufF'd  with  the  relations 
Of  magical  enchantments ;  yet  I  am  not 
So  sottishlv  credulous  to  believe  the  devil 
Hath  that  way  power.  [Music above.]   Ha!  music? 

The  blushing  rosCy  and  purple  flower, 
Let  grozo  too  long,  are  soonest  blasted; 

Dainty  fruitSy  though  meet,  will  sour ^ 
And  rot  in  ripeness,  left  un tasted. 

Yet  here  is  one  more  sweet  than  these : 

The  more  you  taste  the  more  she' II  please. 

« 

Beauty  that's  enclosed  with  ice, 

Is  a  shadow  chaste  as  rare  ; 
Then  how  much  those  sheets  entice^ 

That  have  issue  full  as  fair  ! 
Earth  cannot  yield,  from  all  herpowers^ 
One  equal  for  dame  Venus'  bowers.^ 

A  song  too  1  certainly,  be  it  he  or  she 

That  owes  this  voice,  it  hath  not  been  acquainted 


the  tales 


Of  errant-knighthood,']  The  quarto,  which  is  very  carelessly- 
printed,  reads — the  table  Or  errant  knighthood.  Whether  I 
have  stumbled  upon  the  author's  word,  or  whether  table  be  a 
familiar  expression  for  the  old  romance  of  Morte  Arthur^  the 
reader  must  decide. 

^  This  song  puts  me  in  mind  of  Swift's  loye-song, 
^'  Cupid,  spread  thy  purple' pinions, 
^^  Sweetly  waving  o'er  my  head,"  &c-  * 

and  seems  to  bave  as  little  meaning  in  it.     M.  Masok.  . 

Truly  there  is  ^^  no  great  matter  in  the  song,"  as  the  Clown 
says ;  yet  it  is  not  altogether  so  deyoid  of  meaning  as  that  whicli 
Mr.  M.  Mason  has  quoted  witl^  such  laudable  correctness ;  nor 
absolutely  foreign  from  the  design  in  agitation »  The  stage  direc- 
tion  here  is,  Musick  above,  a  song  of  pleasure:  froni  which  i£ 
seems  that  no  song  was  originally  provided  by  the  author, 
^e  p.  157.  Indeed,  it  is  a  doubt  with  me,  whether  most  of 
tbese  things  were  not  supplied  by  the  poet  in  waitings 


180  THE  PICTURE. 

With  much  affliction.    Whosoe'er  you  arfe 
That  do  inhabit  here,  if  you  have  bodies,  - 
And  arp  not  mere  aerial  forms,  appear, 

Enter  Honouia,  masked. 

And  make  me  know  yotirend  with  me.    Most 

strange !         ^        ^ 
What  have  I  conjured  up  ?  sure,  if  this  be 
A  spirit,  it  is  no.damn'd  one.  What  a  shape's  here! 
Then,  with  what  majesty  it  moves !  If  Juno 
Were  now  to  keep  her  state  among  the  gods, 
And  Hercules  to  be  made  again  her  guest, 
She  could  not  put  on  a  more  glorious  habit, 
Though  her  handmaid,   Iris,   lent  her   various 

colours. 
Or  old  Oceanus  ravish'd  from  the  deep 
All  jewels  shipwreck'd  in  it.     As  you  have 
Thus  far  made  known  yourself,  if  that  your  face 
Have  not  too  much  divinitj^  about  it 
For  mortal  eyes  to  gaze  on,  perfect  what 
You  have  begun,  with  wonder  and  amazement 
To  my  astonish'd  senses.     [Honoria  unmasks."] 

How  !  the  queen  !  {Kneels. 

Hon.  Rise,  sir,  and  hear  my  reasons,  in  defence 
Of  the  rape  (for  so  you  may  conceive)  which  I, 
5y  my  instruments,  made  upon  you.  You,  peFhapSy 
May  think  what  you  have  sufFer'd  for  my  lust 
Is  a  common  practice  with  me;  but  I'call 
Those  evef-shining  lamps,  and  their  great  Maker, 
As  witnesses  of  ray  innocence :  I  ne'er  look'd  on 
A  man  but  your  best  ^elf,  bn  whom  I  ever.' 
(Except  the  king)  vouchsafed  an  eye  of  favour. 
Math.  The  king,  indeed,  and  only  such  a  king, 
l)eserve$  your  rarities,  madam;  and,  but  ho^, 
*Twere. giant- like  ambition  in  any. 
In  his  wishes  only,  to  presume  to  taste 


THE  PICTURE.      '         181 

The  nectar  of  your  kisses;  or  to  feed 

His  appetite  with  that  ambrosia,  due 

And  proper  to  a  prince ;  and,  what  binds  more, 

A  lawful  husband.     Fpr  myself,  great  queen, 

I  am  a  thing  obscure,  disfurnish'd  of 

All  merit,. that  can  raise  me  higher  than. 

In  my  most  humble  thankfulness  for  your  bounty. 

To  hazard  my  life  for  you ;'  and,  that  way, 

I  am  most  ambitious* 

Hon.  I  desire  no  more 
Than  what  you  promise.    If  you  dare  expose    , 
Your  life,  as  you  profess,  to  do  me  service,. 
How  can  it  better  be  employM  than  in 
Preserving  mine  ?  which  only  you  can  do. 
And  must  do,  with  the  danger  of  your  own, 
A  desperate  danger  too  \  If  private  nien 
Can  brook  no  rivals  in  what  they  affect, 
But  to  the  death  pursue  such  as  invade 
What  law  makes  their  inheritance  ;  the  king. 
To  whom  you  know  I  am  dearer  than  his  crown, 
His  health,  his  eyes,  his  after  hopes,  with  all 
His  present  blessings,  must  fall  on  that  man, 
Like  dreadful  lightning,  that  is  won  by  prayers^ 
Threats,  or  rewards,  to  stain  his  bed,  or  make 
His  hoped-for  issue  doubtful ! 

Math.  If  you  aim 
At  what  I  more  than  fear  you  do,  the  reasons 
Which  you  deliver,  should,  in  judgment,  rather 
Deter  me,  than  invite  a  grant,  with  my 
Assured  ruin. 

Hon.  True  j  if  that  you  were 
Of  a  cold  temper,  one  whom  doubt,  or  fear. 
In  thie  most  horrid  forms  they  could  put  on, 
Might  teach  to  be  ingratefuh    Your  denial 
To-tn«,  that  have  deserved  s6  much,  is  more. 
If  it  can  have  addition. 

voju  HI.  *  O 


183  THE  PICTURE. 

Math.  I  know  not 
What  your  commands  are. 

Hon.  Have  you  fought  so  well 
Among  arm'd  men,  yet  cannot  guess  what  lists 
You  are  to  enter,  when  you  are  in  private 
With  a  willing  lady :  one,  that,  to  enjoy 
Your  compkny  this  night,  denied  the  king 
Access  to_  what's  his  own?  If  you  will  press  me 

To  speak  in  plainer  language^ 

Math.  Pray  you,  forbear ; 
I  would  I  did  not  understand  too  much ! 
Already,  by  yqur  wotids,  I  am  instructed 
To  credit  that,  which,  not  co^firm'd  by  you, 
Had  bred  suspicion  in  me  of  untruth, 
Though  an  angel  had  afBrm'd  it.    But  supposd 
That,  cloy'd  with  happiness,  which  is  ever  built 
On  virtuous  chastity,  in  the  wantonness 
Of  appetite,  you  desire  to  make  trial 
Of  the^false  delights  proposed  by  vicious  lust; 
AmoDg  ten  thousand,  every  way  more  able 
And  apter  to  be  wrought  on,  isuch  as  owe  you 
Obedience,  being  your  subjects,  why  should  you 
Make  choice  of  me,  a  stranger  ? 

Hon.  Though  yet  reason 
Was  ne'er  admitted  in  the  court  of  love, 
I'll  yield  you  one.  unanswerable.    As  I  urged, 
In  bur  last  priVa'te*  conference,  you  have 
A  pretty  promising  presence ;  but  there  are 
Many,  in  limbs  and  feature,  who  may. take. 
That  way,  the  right-hand  file  of  yoo :  besides. 
Your  May  of  youth  is  pas t^  and  tne  blood  spent* 
By  wounds,*  though  bravely  taken,  renders  you 


^  In  our  last  private  conference^  yon  hofoel    Mr.  ^.  Moms 
omits  prvMtCf  though  absolutely  necessary  to  the  measarci* 
*  ■  and  the  blood  spent 


THE  PICTURE.  18? 

Disabled  fOr  love'a  service :  and  that  valour 
Set  off  with  better  fortunei  which,  it  may  be. 
Swells  you  above  your  bounds,  is  not  the  hook 
That  hath  caught  me,  good  sin     I  need  no 

champion, 
With  his  sword,  to  guard  my  honour  or  my  beauty; 
In  both  I  can  defend  myself^  and  live 
My  own  protection. 

Math.  If  these  advocates. 
The  best  that  can  plead  for  me,  have  no  power,  ^ 
What  can  you  find  in  me  etee,  that  may  tempt  you, 
With  irrecoverable  loss  unto  yourself, 
To  be  a  gainer  from  me  ?      - 

Hon.  You  have,  sir, 
A  jewel  of  such  matchless  worth  and  lustre, , 
.  As  does  disdain  comparison,  and  darkens 
All  that  is  rare  in  other  men ;  and  that, 
I  must  or  win  or  lessen. 

Math.  You. heap  more 
Amazement  on  me  :  What  am.  I  possessed  of 
.That  you  can  covet?  make  me  understand  it,    - 
If  it  have  a  nslme. 

Hon.  Yes,  an  imagined  one  ; 
But  is,  in  substance,  nothing ;  being  a  garment 
Worn  out  off  fashion,  and  long  since  given  o'er 
By  the  court  and  country :  'tis  your.loyalty 
And  constancy  to  your  wife  ;  'tis  that  I  dote  on, 
And  does  deserve  my  envy ;  and  that  jdwel. 
Or  by  fair  play  or  foul,  I  must  win  from  you. 

Math.  Tnese  are  mere  contraries.    If  you  love 
me,  madam, 

By  wounds,  kc]  We  hare  already  had  this  conceit,  such  as  it 
is,  in  the  Parliament  of  Love : 

/<  Thotigh  honoor'd  in  our  manly  xooundtj  well  taken, 
)        ^<  Ton  say  they  do  deform  us,  and  the  loss 
.  ^^  Of  much  blood  that  way^  renders  us  unfit 
'^  To  plea^^  yott  in  your  chambers.'*  Act  I.  sc.  i. 

•oa 


184  THE  PICTURE. 

For  my  constancy,  why  seek  you  to  destroy  it  ? 
In  my  keeping  it  preserve  me  Worth  your  favour/ 
Or,  if  it  be  a  jewel  of  that  value. 
As  you  with  laboured  rhetoric  would  persuade 

me, 
What  can  you  stake  against  it  ^ 

Hon.  A  queen's  fame, 
And  equal  honour. 

Math.  So,  whoever  wins, 
Both  shall  be  losers. 

Hon.  That  is  that*  I  aim  at : 
Yet  on  the  die  I  lay  my  youth,  my  beauty, 
This  moist  palm,  this  soft  lip,  and  those  delights 
Darkness  should  only  judge  of.    [Kisses  him.J 

Do  you  find  them 
Infectious  in  the  trial,  that  you  start,  , 

As  frighted  with  their  touch  ? 

Math.  Is  it  in  man 
To  resist  such  strong  temptations  ? 

Hon.  He  begins 
To  waver.  {Jside. 

Math.  Madam,  as  you  are  gracious, 
Grant  this  short  night's  deliberation  to  me; 

7  In  my  keeping  it  preserre  me  worth  your  favour."]  So  the  old 
copy,  and  rarely  rightly :  ^^  If  you  lore  me  for  my  constRocy^ 
why  do  yoD  seek  to  destroy  it?  Why  not  rather,  in  allowing^ 
me  to  keep  it,  suffer  me  to  remain  a  proper  object  of  yoiir  kind- 
ness  ?*'  This  seems  to  be  the  drift  of  the  argument.  Cozeter 
not  adterting  to  this,  reads, 

In  my  keepings  it  preserves  me  worth  your  favour  ! 

And  Mr.  M.  Mason,  improfing  npon  him,  alters  In  to  If^  re» 
BOTes  the  point,  and  runs  the  line  into  the  next  sentence : 

limy  keeping  it  preserves  me  worth  your  faxour^ 
Ory  if  it  hcy  &c. 

But  where  is  Massinger  all  this  while  ? 

*  Hon.  That  is  that  I  aim  at.}  £?ery  where  the  moders 
editors  labour  to  .destroy  all  traces  of  the  phraseology  of  llaf* 
singer's  age.    They  read^  .Th$i  is  what  /  mm.  «f» 


.     THE  PICTURE.  185 

And,  with  the  rising  sun,  from  me  you  shall 
Receive  full  satisfaction, 

Hon.  Though  extremes 
Hate  all  delayj  I  will  deny  you  nothing. 
This  key  will  bring  you  to  your  friend;  you  arc 

safe  both ;  . 
And  all  things  useful  that  could  be  prepared 
For  one  I  love  and  honour,  wait  upon  you. 
Take  council  of  your  pillow,  such  a  fortune 
As  with  affection's  swiftest  wings  flies  to  you. 
Will  not  be  often  tendered.       ,  [Esit. 

Math.  How  my  blood 
Rebels !  I  now  could  call  her  back — and  yet      \ 
There's  something  stays  me:   if  the  kins  had 

tender'd  /       ^ 

Such  favours  to  my  wife,  'tis  to  be  doubted 
They  had  not  been  refused :  but,  being  a  man, 
I  should  not  yield  6rst,  or  prove  an  example, 
For  her  defence,  of  frailty.  By  this,  sans  question, 
She'fi^  tempted  too ;  aad  here  I  may  examine. 

[Looks  on  the  picture. 
How  she  holds  out.  She's  still  the  same,  the  same 
Purexrystal  rock  of  chastity.     Perish  all 
Allurements  that  may  alter  me !  The  snow 
Of  her  sweet  coldness  hath  extinguish'd  quite 
The  fire  that  but  even  now  began  to  flame  : 
And  1  by  her  confirm'd,— rewards  nor  titles^ 
Nor  certain  death  from  the  refused  queen. 
Shall  shake  my  faith;  since  I  resolve  to  be 
Loyal  to  her,  as  she  is  true  to  me,  [Ejrit. 


18«  THE  PICTUHE. 


SCENE  VI.' 

Bohemia.    4  Gallery  in  Mathia$'  H&uie^ 
Enter  Ubalpo  and  Ricaedo. 

Ubald.  What  we  spake  on  the  voley  *  begids  to 
work ; 
We  have  ^id  a  good  foundation. 

Ric.  Build  it  up, 
Or  else  'tis  nothing :  you  have  by  lot  the  honour 
Of  the  first  assault;  but,  as  it  is  conditioned, 
Observe  the  time  proportioned :  Til  not  part  with 
My  share  in  the  achievement;  when  I  whistle, 
Or  hem,  fall  off. 

Enter  Sophia. 

Ubald.  She  comes.     Stand  l;>y>  I'U  watch 
My  opportunity.  [They  walk  aside. 

Soph.  I  find  myself 
Strangely  distracted  with  the  various  stories, 
Now  well,  now  ill,  then  doubtfully,  by  my  guests 
Deliver'd  of  my  lord:  and,  like  poor  beggars 
That  in  their  dreams  find  treasure,  by  reflection 
Of  a  wounded  fancy,  make  it  questionable 
Whether  they  sleep  or  not;  yet,  tickled  with 

9  SCENE  yi.]  Mr.  M.  Mason,  deserting  his  old  gufdp,  do^t 
not  make  this  a  new  scene ;  though  the  change  of  place  is  from 
the  palace  of  Ladislaus  to  the  distant  residence  of  Sophia. 

'  Ubald.  What  we  spake  on  the  Yolej]   A  literal  translation  of 
the  French  phrase  d  lit  voUe^  which  signifies  at  random^  or  inam^ 
nderately*    M.  Mason. 
Thus  in  the  New  Inn : 

<c you  must  not  gi?e  credit 

^^  To  all  that  ladies  publickly  profess, 
**  Or  talk  o'  the  voley  unto  their  sertaotk'' 


THE  PICTURE.  187 

Such  a  fautastic  hope  of  happioesst 

Wish  they  may  Beyer  wake*  In  some  such  measure^ 

Incredulous  of  what  I  see  and  touch, 

As  'twere  a  fading  apparition,  I 

Am  still  perplex'd,  and  trouhled ;  and  when  mo$t 

Confirm'd  'tis  true,  a  curious  jealousy 

To  be  assured,  by  what  means,  and  from  whom. 

Such  a  mass  of  wealth  was  first  deserv'd,  then 

gotten^  V 

Cunningly  steals  into  me.    I  have  practised, 
For  my  certain  resolution,  with  these  courtiersi 
Promising  private  conference  to  cither, 
And,  at  this  hour : — if  in  search  of  the  truth, 
I  hear,  or  say,  more  than  becomes  my  virtue. 
Forgive  me,  my  Mathias. 

Ubald.  Now  I  make  in. —        [^omei  forward. 
Madam,  as  you  commanded,  I  attend 
Your  pleasure. 

S&bh.  I  must  thank  you  for  the  favour. 

Voald.  I  am  no  ghostly  father;  yet,  if  yoahave 
Some  scruples  touching  your  lora,  you  would  be 

resolved  of, 
I  am  prepared. 

Soph.  But  will  you  take  your  oath. 
To  answer  truly? 

Ubald^  On  the  hem  of  your  smock,  if  you  please : 
A  vow  I  dare  not  break,  it  being  a  book 
I  would  gladly  swe^r  on. 

Soph.  To  spare,  sir,  that  trouble, 
I'll  take  your  word,  which,  in  a  gentleman, 
Should  be  of  equal  value.     Is  my  lord,  then, 
In  such  grace  with  the  queen  ? 

Ubald.  You  should  best  know, 
By  what  you  have  found  from  him,  whether  he  can  _ 
Deserve  a  grace  or  no. 

Soph.  What  grace  do  you  mean  ? 

UlaUL  That  special  grace,  if  you  will  have  it,  hie 


188  TH£  PICTURE. 

Laboured  so  hard  fbr  bettveeiji  a  pair  of  steeeH 
•Upon  your  wedding  night,  when  your  ladyship^ 
Lost — you  know  what. 

Soph,  Fie  !  be  more  modesty 
^r.I  must  leave  you. 

Ubald.  I  would  tell  a  truth 
A%  cleanly  as  I  could,  and  yet  the  subject 
'Makes  me  run  out  a  little. 

Soph.  You  would  put,  now, 
A  foolish  jealousy  in  my  head,  my  lord 
Hath  gotten  a  new  mistress. 

'  Ubald.  One  !  a  hundred  ; 
But  under  seal  I  speak  it :  I  presume 
Upon  your  silence,  it  being  for  your  profit. 
Tney  talk  of  Hercules'  fifty  in  a  night,* 
•Twas  well ;  but  yet  to  yours  he  was  a  piddler : 
Such  a  soldier  and  a  courtier  never  came 
To  Alba'  Kegalis;  the  ladies  run  mad  for  him, 

*  They,  talk  of  Hercules*  if>ack  for)  fifty  &c.]  t  have  omitted 
tile  two  interpolated  words,  as  they  destroy  at  once  tlie  cob« 
stroction  and  the  measure. 

^  To  Alba  Regalis ;]  Mr.  M.  M^on  reads^^aAi  RegtOis.  Why 
this  change  should  be  thought  necessary,  1  cannot  tell :  Alba 
Regalis  was  no  uncommon  expression  at  the  time ;  and,  indeed, 
it  is  used,  by  more  than  one  writer,  for  the  English  court :  but 
it  is  used  with  peculiar  propriety  here,  for  Alba  Regalis  was  the 
town  where  the  kings  of  Bungary  were  anciently  crowned.  It 
is  now  dwindled  to  a  paltry  Tillage,  called.  Staiweis^eabjarg. 
Undoubtedly  Massinger  meant  to  lay  his  scene  there. 

The -first  part  of  this  note  has  been  disputed,  and  I  have  been 
challenged,  with  rather  more  valour  than  discretion,  to  produce 
an  instance  of  the  *'  expression"  alluded  to.  Frankly,  this  is 
out  of  my  power.  Not  being  aware  that  the  passages  in  ques- 
tion would  ever  be  useful  to  me,  they  were  passed  over  with  a 
thonsatid  others,  from/vrhicb  (if  I  could  recollect  their  places) 
I  should  now  derive  yeoman's  service  :-^but  as  I  can  confi* 
dently  rely  on  mj  general  recollection  of  the  fact,  I  have  no 
scruple  in  repeating  the  assertion,  that  ^^  Alba  Regalis  la 
'iis^d  by  more  than  one  writer  of  tbe  tim^)  lor  tte.EogU^ 


THE  PICTURE.  U9 

Und  there  is  such  contention  among  them, 
Whoishall  engross  him  wholly,  that  the  like 
Was' never  heard  of.  ^ 

SopL  Are  they  handspme  women?     • 
Ubdld.  Fie!  no;  coarse  mammets :  and  what's 
worse,  they  are  old  too, 
Sonic  fifty,  some  threescore,  and  they  pay  dear 

for't, 
Believing  that  he  carries  a  powder  in  his  breechea 
Will  make  thein  young  again;  and  thpse  suck 
shrewdly. 
Ric.  [whist les.\  Sir,  I  must  fetch  you  off.  \Amdc. 
Ubald.  I  could  tell  you  wonders 
Of  the  cur#s  he  has  done,  but  a  business  of  import 
Calls  me  away ;  but,  that  dispatched,  I  will 
Be  with  you  presently.  [Walks  aside. 

SopL  There  is  something  more. 
In  this,  thaii  bare  suspicion. 

Ric.  [comes  forward]  Save  you,  lady  ; 
Now  you  looic  like  yourself!  I  have  not  look*d 

on     ' 
A  lady  more  complete,  yet  have  seen  a  madam 
Wear  a  garment  of  this  fashion,  of  the  same  stuff 
too,,  »  ' 


4:oiirt."  Chance  may  furnish  roe  with  the  prcTofs ;  but  I  cap- 
not  undertake  a  regular  search  for  them.  Meantime,  I  wiU 
give  the  reader  an  extract  of  a  letter  from  my  friend,'  Mr. 
Gilchrist:  ^'AlbaRegalis  is  White-hall;  the  place  where  Jamea 
and  Charles  held  their  courts ;  and  though  I  have  no  proof  at 
hand  of  its  being  so  called  by  Massinger's  contemporaries,  yet 
in  tile  ^  Memoires  of  Messalina,'  1689,  describing  the  intrigues 
'of  James  the  IPs.  reign,  the  court  of  White.haU  is  inYariably 
styled  Alba  Regalis :"  from  this  it  may  be  fairly  presumed,  that 
the  appellation  was  sufficiently  notorious.  The  geographical 
part,  which  the  critics  have  producett  with  as  much  parade  as 
if  they  had  m^de  a  discovery  in  terra  incognita  or  the  moon,  I 
.hnmbly  cqn tented  myself  witjb  taking  from*  Robert  Ainswortii'a 
JL«atin  Dictionary* 


190  THE  PICTURE. 

One  just  of  your  dimenstons : — ^Sat  the  wind  thefe, 
boy! 
Soph.  What  lady,  sir  ? 
Ric.  Nay^  nothing ;  and  methinks 
I  should  know  this  ruby :  very  good !  'tis  the 

same.  ' 

This  chain  of  6rient  pearl,  ancf  this  diamond  tod, 
Have  been  worn  before ;  but  much  good  may 

they  do  you ! 
Strength  to  the  gentleman's  back !  he  toil'd  hard 

for  them. 
Before  he  got  them. 
Soph.  Why,  how  were  they  gotten  ?  . 
Ric.  Not  in  the  field  with  his  swofd,  upon  my 
life ; 
He  may  thank  his  close  stiletto.* — \Ubaldo  hems.'\ 

— Plague  upon  it ! 
Run  the  minutes  so  fast  ?  \Aside.\^Vx^y  you,  ex- 
cuse my  manners ; 
J  left  a  letter  in  my  chamber  window, 
Which  I  would  not  have  seen  on  any  terms ;  fie 

on  it, 
Forgetful  as  I  am  !  but  I'll  straight  attend  you. 

[fValks  aside. 
Soph.  This  is  strange.    His  letters  said  these 
jewels  were 
Presented  him  by  the  queen,  as  a  reward 
.  For  his  good  service,  and  the  trunks  of  clothes, 
That  followed  them  this  last  night,  with  haste 

made  up 
By  his  direction. 

Ubald.  [comes forward^  I  was  telling  you 
Of  wonders,  madam. 

Soph.  If  you  are.  so  skilful. 

'     4  He  may  thank  his  cIoh  stilettov]    So  the  old  copy.    Coxeter 
and  Mr.  M.  Mason  read,  hi»  close  stillet  too ! 


THE  PICTURE.  191 

\ 

Without  premeditation  answer  me ; 

Know  you  this  gown,  and  these  rich  jewels  ? 

TJhald.  Heaven, 
How  things  will  come  out !  But  that  I  should 

offend  you. 
And  wrong  my  ^ore  than  noble  friend^  your 

husband, 
(For  we  are  sworn  brothers,)  in  the  discovery 
Of  his  nearest  secrets,  I  could — — 

Soph.  By  the  hope  of  favour 
That  you  nave  from  me,  out  with  it. 

Uhald.  Tis  a  potent  spell 
I  cannot  resist :  Why,  I  will  tell  you,  madam, 
And  to  how  many  several  women  you  arc 
Beholding  for  your  bravery.    This  was 
The  wedaing  gown  of  Paulina,  a  rich  strumpet> 
Worn  but  a  day,  when  she  married  old  Gonzaga, 
And  left  off  trading. 

Soph.  O  my  heart ! 

Uhald.  This  chain 
Of  pearl,  was  ^  great  wijdow's,  that  invited 
Your  lord  to  a  masque,  and  the  weather  proving 

foul, 
He  lodged  in  her  house  all  night,  and  merry  they 

were; 
But  how  he  came  by  it,  I  know  not. 

Soph.  Perjured  man ! 

Ubald.  This  ring  was  Julietta's,  a  fine  piece. 
But  very  good  at  the  sport:  this  diamond 
Was  madam  Acauthe's,  given  him  for  a  song 
Prick'd  in*a  private  arbour,  as  she  said. 
When  the  queen  ask'd  for*t ;  and  she  heard  him 

sing  too. 
And  danced  to  his  hornpipe,  or  there  are  liars 

abroad. 
7bere  are  other  toys  about  you,  the  same  way 
purchased; 


192  THE   picture; 

But,  parallel'd  with  these,  not  worth  the  relation^ 

You  are  happy  in  a  husband,  never  man 

Made  better  use  of  his  strength  :  would  you  have 

him  waste 
His  body  away  for  nothing  r  if  he  holds  out, 
There's  not  an  embroidered  petycoat  in  the  court^ 
But  shall  be  at  your  service. 

Soph.  I  commend  him, 
It  is  a  thriving  trade;  but  pray  you  leave  mc 
A  little  to  myself. 

Ubald.  You  may  command 
Your   servant,    madam. — \fValks  aside.] — She's 
stung  unto  the  quick,  lad. 

Ric.  I  did  my  part;  if  this  potion*  work  not, 
hang  me ! 
Let  her  sleep  as  well  as  she  can  to  night,  to 

morrow 
We'll  mount  new  batteries. 

Ubald.  And  till  then  leave  her. 

[^Exeunt  Ubaldo  and  Ricardo. 

Soph.  You  Powers,  that  take  into  your  care  the 
guard 
Of  innocence,  aid  me !  for  I  am  a  creature 
So  forfeited  to  despair,  hope  cannot  fancy 
A  ransome  to  redeem  me.     I  begin 
To  waver  in  my  faith,  and  make  it  doubtful^ 
Whether  the  saints,  that  were  canonized  for 
Their  holiness  of  life,  sinn'd  not  in  secret ; 
Since  my  Mathias  is  fallen  from  his  virtue. 
In  such  an  open  fashion.    Could  it  be,  else, 
That  such  a  husband,  so  devoted  to  me, 
Sovow'd  to  temperance,  for  lascivious  hire 
Should  prostitute  himself  to  common  harlots ! 


*  '  ■ '  '    if  this  potion  work  not^   Both  the  editors 

omit  potiop :  bat,  indeed,  nothing  can  be  more  shatncfully  printed, 
tiian  the  whole  of  this  scene ;  if  1  8ai4  the  whole  of  this  p1aj>  I 
should  not  wrong  the  truth. 


THE  PICTURE.  19$ 

Did  and  deform'd  too  !  Was't  for  this  he  left  me, 
And,  on  a  feign'd  pretence,  for  want  of  means    • 
To  give  me  ornament?— »-or  to  bring  home 
Diseases  to  me  ?  Suppose  these  are  false, 
And  lustful  goats  ;  if  he  were  true  and  right, 
Why  stays  he  so  long  from  me,  being  made  rich, 
And  that  the  only  Reason  why  he  left  me  ? 
No,  he  is  lost ;  and  shall  I  wear  the  spoils 
And  salaries  of  lust !  they  cleave  unto  me, 
Like  Nessus'  poison'd  shirt:  no,  in  my  rage, 
I'll  tear  them  off,  and  from  my  body  wash 
The  venom  with  my  tears.    Have  I  no  spleen. 
Nor  anger  of  a  woman  ?  shall  he  build 
Upon  my  ruins,  arid  I,  unrevenged, 
Deplore  his  falsehood  ?  no ;  with  the  same  trasli 
For  which  he  had  dishonour'd  me,  I'll  purchase 
A  just  revenge  :  I  am  not  yet  so  much 
In  debt  to  years,  nor  so  mis-shaped,  that  all 
Should  fly  from  ray  embraces :  Chastity, 
Thou  only  art  a  name,  and  I  renounce  thee ! 
I  am  now  a  servant  to  voluptuousness. 
Wantons  of  all  degrees  and  fashions,  welcome  I 
You  shall  be  entertain'tl ;  and,  if  I  stray, 
Let  him  condemn  himself,  that  led  the  way. 


ACT  IV.    SCENE  L 

Alba  Regalis.    A  Room  in  the  Palace^   ' 

jEJw^er  Math  IAS  and  Baptista. 

Bapt.  We  are  in  a  desperate  strait ;  there's  n% 
evasion, 
Nor  hope  left  to  come  off,  but  by  your  yielding 


194  THE  PICTURE. 

•  •         •  •     «  .    .     ^ 

1^0  the  necessity ;  you  must  feign  a  grant 
To  her  violent  passion,  or— — 

Math.  What,  my  Baptista  ? 

Bapt.  We  are  but  dead  else. 

Math.  Were  the  sword  now  heaved  up, 
And  my  neck  upon  the  block,  I  would  not  buy 
An  bourns  reprieve  with   the  loss  of  faith  and 

virtue, 
To  be  made  immortal  here.    Art  thou  a  scholar, 
Nay,  almost  without  parallel,  and  yet  fear 
To  die,  which  is  inevitable  !  You  may  urge 
The  many  years  that,  by  the  course  of  nature, 
We  may  travel  in  this  tedious  pilgrimage. 
And  hold  it  as  a  blessing ;  as  ft  is. 
When  innocence  is  our  guide :  yet  know,  Bap- 
tista, 
Our  virtues  are  preferred  before  our  years, 
By  the  great  Judge :  to  die  untainted  in 
Our. fame  and  reputation  is  the  greatest; 
And  to  lose  that,  can  we  desire  to  live  ?* 
Or  shall  I,  for  a  momentary  pleasure, 
Which  soon  comes  to  a  period,  to  all  times 
Have  breach  of  faith  and  perjury  remember'd 
In  a  still-living  epitaph  ?  no,  Baptista, 
Since  my  Sophia  will  go  to  her  grave 
Unspotted  in  her  faith,  I'll  follow  her 
Witn  equal  loyalty : — \Take9  out  the  pictureJ]  But 

look  on  this,         • 
Your  own  great  work,  your  masterpiece,  and  then, 

She  being  still  the  same,  teach  me  to  alter! 

Ha !  sure  I  do  not  sleep !  or,  if  I  dream, 
This  is  a  terrible  vision  !  I  will  clear 
My  eyesight ;  perhaps  melancholy  makes  me 
See  that  which  is  not. 

Bapt,  It  is  too  apparent. 

^  jhid  to  lose  thatf  can  we  desire  to  Hvef] 
Et  propter  vitam,  vivendi  perdert  causQS»    ^ur»  Sat  nzi. 


THE  PICTURE.  igs 

I 

I  grieve  to  look  upon*t :  besides  the  yellow, 
That  does  assure  she's  tempted,  there  are  lines 
Of  a  dark  colour,  that  disperse  themselves 
O'er  every  miniature  of  her  face,  and  those 
Confirm 

Math.  She  is  turn'd  whore! 

JBapt.  I  must  not  say  so. 
Yet,  as  a  friend  to  truth,  if  you  will  have  me 
Interpret  it, — in  her  consent  and  wishes  * 
She's  false,  but  not  in  fact  yet, 

^Math.  Fact,  Baptista ! 
Make  not  yourself  a  pander  to  her  looseness, 
In  labouring  to  palliate  what  a  visor 
Of  impudence  cannot  cover.     Did  e'er  woman, 
Inher  will,  decline  from  chastity,  but  found  means, 
To  give  her  hot  lust  fuel  T  It  is  more 
Impossible  in  nature  for  gross  bodies. 
Descending  of  themselves,  to  hang  in  the  air ; 
Or  with  my  single  arm  to  underprop 
A  falling  tower ;  nay,  in  its  violent  course 
To  stop  the  lightning,  than  to  stay  a  woman 
Hurried  by  two  furies,  lust  and  falsehood, 
In  her  full  career  to  wickedness ! 

Bapt.  Pray  you,  temper 
The  violence  of  your  passion. 

Math.  In  extremes 
Of  this  condition,  can  it  be  in  man 
To  use  a  moderation  ?  I  am  thrown,  * 
From  a  steep  rock,  headlong  into  a  gulph 
Of  misery,  and  find  myself  past  hope, 
In  the  same  moment  that  I  apprehend 
That  I  am  falling*:  and  this,  the  figure  of 
My  idol,  few  hours  since,  while  she  continued 
In  he^  perfection,  that  was  late  a  mirror, 

7  To  gifoe  her  hot  lust  fuel  ?]  Wantoidy  corrupted  by  th«, 
modern  editors  into— ^'ve  her  hot  but  fuU  scope?  Metre  and 
sense  destroyed  at  a  stroke ! 


196  THE  PICTURE* 

In  which  I  saw  .miraculous  shapes  of  duty^ 
Staid  manners,  with  all  excellency  a  husband 
Could  wish  in  a  chaste  wife,  is  on  the  sudden 
Turned  to  a  magical  glass,  and  does  present 
Nothing  but  horns  and  horror. 

Bapt.  You  may  yet, 
And  'tis  the  best  foundation,  build  up  comfort . 
On  your  own  goodness. 

Math.  Mo,  that  hath  undone  me; 
For  now  I  hold  my  temperance  a  sin 
Worse  than  excess,  and  what  was  vice,  a  virtue. 
Have  I  refused  a  queen,  and  such  a  queen, 
Whose  ravishing  beauties  at  the  first  sight  had 

tempted 
A  hermit  from  his  beads,  and  changed  his  prayersr 
To  amorous  sonnets,  to  preserve  my  faith 
Inviolate  to  thee,  with  the' hazard  of 
My  death  with  torture,  since  she  could  inflict 
No  less  for  my  contempt ;  and  have  I  met 
Such  a  return  from  thee!  I  will  not  curse  thee, 
Nor,  for  thy  falsehood,  rail  against  the  sex ; 
Tis  poor,  and  common:  I'll  only,  with  wise  men, 
Whisper  unto  myself,  howe'er  they  seem. 
Nor  present,  nor  past  times,  nor  the  age  to  come« 
Hath  heretofore,  can  now,  or  ever  .shall, 
Produce  one  constant  woman. 

Bapt.  This  is  more 
Than  the  satirists  wrote  against  them» 

Math.  There's  no  language 
That  can  express  the  poison  of  these  aspics,  . 
These  weeping  crocodiles,  and  all  too  little 
That  hath  been  said  against  them.   But  I'll  mould 
My  thoughts  into  another  form ;  and,  if 
She  can  outlive  the  report  of  what  I  have  done. 
This  hand,  when  next  she  comes  within  my  reach. 
Shall  be  her  executioner. 


THE  PICTURE.  197^ 

Enter  Honoria  and  AcANTfiE, 

3Sapt.  The  queen,  sir. 

Hon.  Wait  our  command  at  distance: — [Exit. 
Acanthe.] — ^Sir,  you  too  have 
Free  liberty  to  depart. 

Bdpt.  1  know  my  jnanTiers^^ 
And  thank  you  for  the  favour.  [E.rit. 

Hon.  Have  you  taken 
Good  rest  in  your  new  lodgings?  I  expect  now 
Your  resolute  answer;  biit  advise  maturely, 
Before  1  hear  it. 

Math.  Let  my  actiotis,  madam, 
For  no  words  can  dilate  my  joy,  in  all 
You  can  command,  with  cheerfulness  to  serve  yon. 
Assure  your  highness ;  and,  in  sign  of  my 
Submission,  and  contrition  for  my  error, 
My  Tips,  that  but  the  last  night  shunn'd  the  touch 
Of  yours  as  poison,  taught  humility  now,  - 
Thus  on  your  foot,  ^nd  that  too  great  an  honour 
For  such  an  undeserver,  seal  my  duty. 
A  cloudy  mist- of  ignorance,  equal  to 
Cimmerian  darkness,  would  not  let  me  see,  then, 
What  now,  with  adoration  and  wonder, 
Wit^  reverence  I  look  up  to :  but  those  fogs 
Dispersed  and  scatter'd  by  the  powerful  beams 
With  which  yourself,  the  sun  of  all  perfection, 
Vouchsafe  to  cure  my  blindness;  like  a  suppliant^ 
As  low  as  1  can  kneel,  I  humbly  beg    . 
What  you  once  .pleased  to  tcnden 

Hon.  This  is  more 
Than  I  could  hope !  £^^/4ie.]— What  find  you  se 

attractive 
Upon  my  face,  in  so  short  time  to  make 
Thi«  isndde'n  metamorphosis  ?  pray  you,  risie ;  * 
i,  for  your  late  neglect,  thus  sign  your  pardon. 

[Kisses  him^ 

'    YOU  III.  *  P 


193  THE  PICTURE. 

Ay,  now  you  kiss  like  a  lover,  and  not  as  brothers 
Coldly  salute  their  sisters. 

Math.  I  am  turn'd 
All  spirit  and  fire. 
'    Hon.  Yet,  to  give  some  allay 
To  this  hot  fervour,  'twere  good  to  remember 
The  king,  whose  eyes  and  ears  are  every  where; 
With  the  danger  too  that  follows,  this  discover'd. 

Math.  Danger  !  a  bugbear,  madam  ;  let  [me] 
ride  once 
Like  Phaeton  in  the  chariot  of  your  favour. 
And  I  contemn  Jove's  thunder:  though  the  king^ 
In  our  embraces  stood  a  looker  on, 
His  hangman,  and  with  studied  cruelty,  ready* 
To  drag  me  from  your  arms,  it  should  not  fright 

me 
From  the  enjoying  that  a  single  life  is 
Too  poor  a  price  for.    ,  O,  that  now  all  vigour 
Of  my  youth  were  re-collected  for  an  hour, 
That  my  desire  might  meet  with  yours,  and  draw 
I'he  envy  of  all  men,  in  the  encounter, 
Upon  my  head  !  I  should — buj  ve  lose  time — 
Be  gracious,  mighty  queen. 

Hon.  Pause  yet  a  little : 
Th?  bounties  of  the  king,  and,  what  weighs  more^ 
Your  boasted  constancy  to  your  matchless  wife^ 
Should  not  so  soon  be  shaken. 

Math.  The  whole  fabric, 
When  I  but  look  on  you,  is  in  a  moment 
O'crturn'd  and  ruin*d  ;  and,  as  rivers  lose 
Their  names  when  they  are  swallow'd  by  the 

ocean, 
In  you  alone  all  faculties  of  my  soul 

*  JEfff  ha^gmcm^  und  with  studied  erueHy^  rtad^y  Here  agaia 
these  eterDal  eoemies  of  the  author's  idiomatic  stjrle  reM^  iftt 
hgn^an  too,  with  studied  cruelty^  &c. 


THE   PICTURE. 


199 


Are  wholly  taken  up ;  my  wife  and  king. 
At  the  best,  as  things  forgotten. 

Hon.  Can  thi?  be  ? 
I  have  gain'd  my  end  now.  [Aside. 

Mathl  Wherefdre  atfty  you,  madam  ? 

Hon.  In  my  consideration  what  a  nothing 
Man's  constancy  is. 

Math.  Your  beauties  make  it  so 
In  me,  sweet  l4dy. 

Hon.  And  it  is  my  glory  : 
I  could  be  coy  bow,  as  you  were,  but  I 
Am  of  a  gentler  temper ;  howsoever, 
And  in  a  just  return  of  what  I  have  suiFer'd 
In  your  disdain,  with  the  same  measure  grant  me 
£qual  deliberation :  I  ere  long 
Will  visit  you  again  ;  and  when  I  next 
Appear,,  as  conquer'd  by  it,  slave-like  wait 
On  my  triumphant  beauty.  *  [^Exit. 

Math.  What  a  change 
Is  here  beyond  my  fear  !  but  by  thy  falsehood, 
Sophia,  not  her  beauty,  is't  denied  me 
'To  sin  but  in  my  wishes  ?  what  a  frpwn, 
In  scorn,  at  her  departure,  she  threw  on  me ! 
I  am  botli  ways  lost;  storms  of  contempt  and 

.  scQrn 
Are  ready  to  break  pn  me,  aoid  all  hope 
Of  shelter  doubtful :  I  can  neither  be 
PisLoyal,  nor  yet  honest ;  I  stand  guilty 
On  either  part ;  at  the  worst,  Death  will  end  all ; 
And  he  must  be  my  judge  to  right  my  wrong, 
Since  I  bare  loved  too  much,  and  lived  too  long* 

\Esit. 


P2 


% 


SOO  THE  PICTURE. 


SCENt   II. 
Bohemia.    A  Room  in  Mathias*  Bouse. 
Enter  Sophia,  with  a  book  and  a  paper. 

t 

Soph.  NoY  custom,  nor  example^  nor  vast  num- 
bers 
Of  such  as  do  offend,  make  less  the  sin. 
For  each  particular  crime  a  strict  account 
Will  be  exacted;  and  that  comfort  which 
The  damn'd  pretend,  fellows  in  misery, 
Takes  nothing  from  their  torments:  every  one, 
Must  suffer,  in  himself^  the  measure  of 
His  wickedness.     If  so,  as  I  must  grant, 
It  being  unrefutable  in  reason, 
Howe'er  my  lord  offend,  it  is  no  warrant 
For  me  to  walk  in  his  forbidden  paths : 
What  penance  then  can  expiate  my'guilt, 
For  my  consent  (transported  then  with  passion) 
To  wantonness?  the  wounds  I  give  my  fame. 
Cannot  recover  his  ;  and,  though  I  have  fed 
These  courtiers  with  promises  and  hopes, 
I  am  yet  in  fact  untainted ;  and  I  trust, 
My  sorrow  for  it,  with  my  purity, 
And  love  to  goodness  for  itself,  made  powerful, 
Though  all  they  have  alleged  prove  true  or  false, 
Will  be  such  exorcisms  as  shall  command 
This  Fury,  jealousy,  from  me.    What  I  have 
Determined  touching  them,  I  am  resolved 
To  put  in  execution.    Within,  there  i 

Enter  Hilaaio,  Corisca,  with  other  Servants* 
Where  are  my  noble  guests? 


THE  PICTURE.  201 

HiL  The  elder,  madatn. 
Is  drinking  by  himself  to  your  ladyship's  health, 
In  muskadine  and  e^gs  ;  and,  for  a  rasher 
To  draw  his  liquor  down,  he  hath  got  a  pie 
Of  marrowbones,  potatoes,  and  eriijigos, 
With  many  such  ingredients;  and,  'tis  said, 
He  hath  sent  his  man  in  post  to  the  next  town, 
for  a  pound  of  ambergris,  and  half  va  peck 
Of  fishes  caird  cantharides. 

Coris.  The  younger 
Prunes  up  himself,  as  if  this  night  he  were 
To  act  a  bridegroom's  part ;  but  to  what  purpose, 
I  am  ignorance  itself. 

Soph.  Continue  30.  [Gives,  the  servants  the  paper. 
Let  those  lodgings  be  prepared  as  this  directs  you : 
And  fail  not  in  a  circumstance,  as  you 
Respect  my  favour.  ^ 

1  Serv.  We  have  our  instructions. 

S  Serv.  And  punctually  will  follow  them. 

[Eseunt  Servants* 

Enter  Ubalix>* 

Hit.  Here  comes,  madam. 
The  lord  Ubaldo. 

Ubald.  Pretty  one,  there's  gold 
To  buy  tbce  a  new  gown ;  [7b  Cans.']  and  there's 

for  thee ; 
Grow  fat,  and  fit  for  service.  [7b  HilJ]  I  am  now, 
As  I  should  be,  at  the  height,  and  able  to 
Bq^et  a  giant    O  my  better  angel  ! 
In  this  you  shew  your  wisdom,  when  you  pay 
The  letcher  in  his  own  coin  ;  shall  you  sit  puling, 
Like  a  Patient  Grizzle,  and  be  laugh'd  at  ?  no : 
Thi3  is  a  fair  revenge.     Shall  we  to't  ? 

Soph.  To  what,  sir? 
^    Ubald.  The  sport  you  promised. 


S02  THE  PICTURE. 

Soph.  Could  it  be  done  »with  safety. 
Ubaid.  I  warrant  you  ;  I  am  sound  as  a  bell,  a 
tough 
Old  blade^  ai\d  steel  to  the  back,  as  you  shall  find 

me 
In  the  trial  on  your  anvil. 
.  Soph.  So ;  but  how,  sir. 
Shall  I  satisfy  your  friend,  to  whoiDi  by  promise, 
I  am  equally  engaged?  ' 

Ubald.  I  must  confess, 
The  more  the  merrier ;  but,  of  all  men  living, 
Take  heed  of  him  :  you  may  safer  run  upon 
The  mouth  of  a  cannon  when  it  i:*  unlading, 
And  come  off  colder. 

Soph.  How  !  is  he  not  wholesome  ? 
ifbald.  Wholesome !  Ill  tell  you,  for  your  good : 
he  is 
A  spittle  of  diseases,*  and,  indeed, 
More  loathsome  and  infectious ;  the  tub  is 
His  weekly  bath :  he  hath  not  drank  this  seven 

years, 
Before  he  came  to  your  house,  but  compositions 
Of  sassafras  and  guaicum ;  and  dry  mutton 
His  daily  portion  :  name  what  scratch  soever 
Can  be  got  by  women,  and  the  surgeons  will 

resolve  you. 
At  this  time,  or  at  that,'Ricardo  had  it. 
Soph.  Bless  me  from  him  ! 
Ubald.  'Tis  a  good  prayer,  lady. 
It  being  a  degree  unto  the  pox. 
Only  to  mention  him  :  if  my  tongue  burn  net, 

hang  me. 
When  I  but  name  Ricardo. 


he  is 


A  spittle  of  diseases,']  So  the  old  copy  :  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M, 
Mason  injudiciously  read,  A  spital  of  diseases^  But  see  the  Ct/^ 
Madam.  .  ,     > 


THE  PICTURE.  203 

Soph.  Sir,  this  caution     ' 
Must  be  rewarded. 

Ubald.  I  hope  I  have  marr'd  his  market.  {Aside. 
>■■      But  when  ? 

Soph.  Why,  presently ;  follow  my  woman, 
She  knows  where  to  conduct  you,  and  will  serve 
To  night  for  a  page.     Let  the  waistcoat  I  ap- 
pointed. 
With  the cambricshirt perfumed,  and  the  rich  cap; 
Be  brought  into  his  chamber. 

Ubald.  Excellent  lady ! 
And  a  caudle  too  in  the  morning. 

Coris.  I  will  fit  you.  [Eseunt  Ubatdo  andCorisca. 

Enter  Ricardo. 

Soph.  So  hot  on  the  scent!  Here  comes  the 
other  beagle. 

Bic.  Take  purse  and  all.  \To  Hilario. 

Hik  If  this  company  would  come  often^ 
I  should 'make  a  pretty  term  on't. 

Soph.  For  your  sake 
I  have  put  him  off;  he  only  begg'd  a  kiss, 
I  gave  it,  and  so  parted. 

Rk.  I  hope  better :—  - 
He  did  not  touch  your  lips  ? 

Soph.  Yes,  I  assure  you. 
There  was  no  danger  in  it  ? 

Ric.  No !  eat  presently 
These  lozenges  of  forty  crowns  an  ounce, 
Or  you  are  undone. 

Soph.  What  is  the -virtue  of  them  ? 

Ric.  They  are  preservatives  against  stinking 
breath, 
Hising  from  rotten  lungs. 

Soph.  If  so,  your  carriage 


804  THE   PICTURE. 

Of  such  dear  anttdates,  in  my  opmioo^ 
May  render  yours  suspected. 
Ric.  Fie !  no ;  1  use  them 
When  I  talk  with  him,  I  should  be  poisonM  else*. 
But  111  be  free  with  you:  he  was  once  a  creature^ 
It  may  be,  of  God's  making,  but  long  since 
He  is  turned  to  a  d  ruggi&t's  shop ;  the  spring  and  fall 
Hold  all  the  year  with  him :  that  he  lives,  he  owes 
To  art,  uot  nature ;  she  has  given  him  o'er. 
He  moves,  like  the  fairy  king,  on  screws  and 

.  wheels, 
Made  by  his  doctor's  recipes,  and  yet  still 
They  are  out  of  joint,  and  every  day  repairing! 
He  has  a  regiment  of  whores  he  keeps, 
At  his  own  charge,  in  a  lazar-house ;  but  the 

best  is,    ^ 
Tliere's  not  a  nose  among  them.    He's  acquainted 
With  the  green  water,  and  the  spitting  pill's 
Familiar  to  him  :  in  a  frosty  morning, 
You  may  thrust  him  in  a  pottle-pot;  his  bones 
Rattle  in  his  skin,  like  beans  tos^'d  iu  a  bladder. 
If  he  but  bear  a  coach,  the  fomentation. 
The  friction  with  fumigation,  cannot  save  him 
From  the  chine-evil.*     In  a  word,  he  is 
Not  one  disease,  but  all ;  yet,  being  my  friend, . 
I  Will  forbear  his  character,  for  I  would  not 
Wrong  him  in  your  opinion. 

'  From  the  chine-evil.]  So  the  old  copy:  Coxeter  and  Mr. 
M.  Mason  read^/rom  the  chin.oTil.  Whether  they  understood 
it^or  not,  1  cannot  say,  nor  is  it  indeed  of  niuch  consequence. 
It  would  not  be  a  matter  of  regret  if  every  reader  of  this  strong 
but  indelicate  hamour  could  say  with  Sophia, 

<•  The  best  is, 

^^  The  Tirtues  you  bestow  on  him,  to  me 

*'  Are  mysteries  I  know  not ;" 
The  reciprocal  criminations  of  the  two  courtiers  is  imitated  with 
•ome  humour  by  Cartwrtght  in  Lov€*s  Convert,  Act  IV.  sc,  i.  and 
by  Cowley,  but  less  successfully,  in  tie  Guardian. 


THE  PICTURE.  805 

Soph.  The  be«t  is, 
The  virtues  you  bestow  on  him,  to  me 
Are  mysteries  I  know  not ;  but,  however, 
I  am  at  your  service..   Sirrah,  let  it  be  your  care 
To  unclothe  the  gentleman,  and  with  speed;  delay 
Takes  from  delight. 

RiCs  Good  !  there's  my  hat,  sword,  cloak : 
A  vengeance  on  these   buttons!   off  with  my 

doublet, 
I  dare  shew  my  skin ;  in  the  touch  you  will  like 

it  better. . 
Prithee  cut   my'  codpiece-points,  and,  for  this 

service, 
When  I  leave  them  off,  they  are  thine. 
HiL  I'll  take  your  word,  sir. 
Ric.  Dear  lady,  stay  not  long. 
Soph.  I  may  come  too  soon,  sir. 
Ric.  No,  no ;  I  am  ready  now. 
Hil.  This  is  the  way,  sir. 

[Exeunt  Hilario  and  Ricardo. 

Soph.  I  was  much  to  blame  to.  credit  their 

reports 

Touching  my  lord,  that  so  traduce  each  other, 

And  with  such  virulent  malice;  though  I  presume 

They  are  bad. enough:   but  I  have  studied  for 

them 
A  way  for  their  recovery. 

[A  noise  of  clapping  a  door  ;  Ubaldo  appears 
above^  in  his  sfurt, 
Ubald.  What  dost  thou  mean,  wench  ? 
Why  dost  thou  shut  the  door  upon  me?  Ha!  -. 
My  clothes  are  ta'en  away  too!  shall  I  starve  here? 
Is  this  my  lodging?  I  am  sure  the  lady  talk'd  of 
A  rich  cap,  a  perfumed  shirt,  and  a  waistcoat; 
But  here  is  nothing  but  a  little  fresh  straw, 
A  petticoat  for  a  coverlet,  and  that  torn  too, 
And  an  old  wotpan's  biggin,  for  a  nightcap. 


.» 


\ 


SO^  THE  PICTURE- 


Re-enter  Co  Rise  a  bel(yw. 

'Slight,  'tis  a  prison,  or  a  pfgsty.     Ha! 

The  windows  grated  with  iron !  I  pannot  forco 

^    them, 
And  if  I  leap  down  here,  I  break  my  neck : 
I  am  betray'd.     Rogues  !  Villains  !  let  me  out; 
I  am  a  lord,  and  that's  no  common  title, 
And  shall  I  be  used  thus? 

Soph.  Let  him  rave,  he's  fast ; 
I'll  parley  with  him  at  leisure, 

RiCARDO  entering  with  a  great  noise  abo'cCyO^f attend 

Ric.  Zounds  I  have  you  trapdoors  ?  * 

Soph.  The  other  bird's  i'the  cage  top,  let  him 
flutter. 

Rip.  Whither  am  I  fallen?  into  hell ! 

Ubald.  Who  makes  that  noise,  there  ? 
Help  me,  if  thou  art  a  friend. 

Ric.  A  friend  !  I  am  where 
I  cannot  help  myself;  let  me  sec  thy  face. 

Ubald.  How,  Ricardo  !  Prithee,  throw  me 
Thy  fcloak,  if  thou  canst,  to  cover  me ;  I  am  almost 
Frozen  to  death. 

Ric.  My  cloak  !  I  have  no  breeches ;       -  • 
I  am  in  my  shirt,  as  thou  art ;  and  here's  nothing 
For  myself  but  a  clown's  cast'  suit. 

*  Bicardo  entering  witk  a  great  noise  above,  as  fallen^  So  tlie 
old  copy.  The  modern -editors  read,  Viiih  a  great  noise  below^ 
It  is  eTident,  however,  that  the  prisoners  were  near  each  other, 
and  so  they  are  represented  in  the  old  story,  which  places  then 
in  two  contiguous  chambers  of  the  tower  or  keep  of  the  castle* 
3  — ^  I  and, here's  nothing 

Far  myself,  hut  a  cloxxm's  cast  suit.']  The  catitii)n  of  the  modeta 
editor?  18  admirable ;  kst  cast  suit  should  not  be  intelligible^ 


p 

I 


THE  PICTURE.  207 

Ubtild.  We  are  both  undone. 
Prithee,  roar  a  little — Madam ! 

Re-enter  Hilario  below,  in  Ricardo's  clothes. 

Rk.  Lady  of  the  house !        . 

Ubald.  Grooms  of  the  chamber  ! 

Ric.  Gentlewomen  !  Milkmaids  ! 

Ubald,  Shall  we  be  murder'd  ? 

Soph.  No,  but  soundly  punish'd, 
To  your  desertsJ 

Ric»  You  are  not  in  earnest,  madam  ? 

Soph,  Judge  as  you  find,  and  feel  it;  and  now 
hear 
What  I  irrevocably  purpose  to  you. 
Being  received  as  guests  into  my  house. 
And  with  all  it  afforded  entertain'd, 
You  have  forgot  all  hospitable  duties ; 
And,  with  the  defamation  of  my  lord. 
Wrought  on  my  woman  weakness,  in  revenge 
Of  his  injuries,  as  you  fashion'd  them  to  me, 
To  yield  my  honour  tp  your  lawless  lust 

Hil.  Mark  that,  poor  fellows! 

Soph.  And  so  far  you  have 
Transgressed  against  the  dignity  of  men. 
Who  should,  bound  to  it  by  virtue,  still  defend 
Chaste  ladies'  honours,  that  it  was  your  trade 
To  make  them  infamous :  but  you  are  caught 
In  your  own  toils,  like  lustful  beasts,  and  there- 
fore 
Hope  not  to  find  the  usage  of  men  from  me: 
Such  mercy  you  have  forfeited,  and  shall  suffer 
Like  the  most  slavish  women. 

Ubald*  How  will  you  use  us  ? 

the  J  alter  it  into  cast  oKsuU,  at  little  more  thaa  the  expense  of 
the  metre. 


'\ 


«08  THE  PICTURE. 

Soph.  Ease,  and  excess  tn  feedings  made  you 
wanton. 
A  plurisy  of  ill  blood  you  must  let  out, 
By  labour,  and  spare  diet  that  way  got  tpo, 
Or  perish  for  hunger.    Reach  him  up  that  distaff 
With  the  flax  upon  it ;   though  no  Omphale^ 
Nor  you  a  second  Hercules,  as  I  take  it, 
As  you  spin  well  at  my  command,  and  please  mc^ 
Your  wages,  in  the  coarsest  bread  and  water^ 
Shall  be  proportionable. 

Ubald.  I  will  starve  first. 

Soph.  That's  as  you  please. 

Ric.  What  will  become  of  me  now  ? 

Soph.  You  shall  have  gentler  work ;  I  have  oft 
observed 
You  were  proud  to  shew  the  fineness  of  your 

hands. 
And  softness  of  your  fingers;  you  should  reel^ell 
What  he  spins,  if  ybu  give  your  mind  to  it,  as 

ril  force  you. 
Deliver  him  his  materials.    Now  you  know 
Yourpenance,  fall  to  work, '.hunger  will  teach  you^: 
And  so,  as  slaves  to  your  lust,  not  me,  I  leave  you.. 

{^Exeunt  Sophia  and  Coriscaj^ 

Ubald.  I  shall  spin  a  fine  thread  out  now  ! 

Ric.  I  cannot  look 
On  these  devices,  but  they  put  me  in  mind    • 
Of  rope  makers. 

Hil.  Fellow,  think  of  thy  task. 
Forget  such  vanities  ;  my  livery  there,^ 
Will  serve  thee  to  work  in. 

Ric.  Let  me  have  my  clothes  yet ; 
I  was  bountiful  to  thee. 

Hil.  They  are  past  your  wearing, 
And  mine  by  promise,  as  all  these  can  witness.* 

*  As.all  these  can  tartness*]  L  e.  the  points,  which  he  had  cut ; 
p.  205. 


THE  PICTURE. 

You  have  no  holidays  coming,  nor  will  I  work 
While  these^  and  this  lasts ;  and  so,  when  you 

please, 
Yon  may  shut  up  your  shop  windows.         [EjciL 

Ubald.  I  am  faint, 
And  must  tie  down. 

Ric,  I  am  hungry  too,  and  cold. 
O  cursed  women ! 

Ubald.  This  comes  of  our*  whoring. 
But  let  us  rest  as  well  as  we  can  to  night, 
But  -not  o'ersleep  ourselves,  lest  we  fast  to  mor- 
row, [They  withdraw. 


SCENE    IIL 

Alba  Regalis.    A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Ladiblaus,  Honorta,  Eubulus,  Feem- 
mNAND,  AcA^ THE,  and  Attendants. 

Ron.  Now  you  know  all,  sir,  with  the  motives 
'  why 
I  fo^rced  him  to  my  lodging. 

Ladis.  I  desire 
No  more  such  trials,  lady. 

Hon.  I  presume,  sir, 
You  do  not  doubt  my  chastity. 

iLadis.  I  Avould  not ; 
But  these  are  strange  inducements. 

Eubu.  By  no  means,  sir. 
Why,  though  he  were  with  violence  seized  upon, 
And  still  detain'd,  the  man,  sir,  being  no  soldier, 
Nor  used  to  charge  his  pike  when  the  breach  is 

open, 
There  was  no  danger  in*t !  You  must  conceive,  sir, 
Being  religious,  she  chose  him  for  a  chaplain. 


210  THE  PICTURE. 

To  read  old  homilies  to  her  in  the  dark ; 
3he's  bound  to  it  by  her  canonst 

Ladis.  Still  tormented 
With  thy  impertinence  ! 

Hon.  By  yourself,  dear  sir, 
I  was  ambitious  only  to  overthrow 
His  boasted  constancy  in  his  consent; 
But  for  fact,  I  contemn  him  :  I  was  never    ' 
Unchaste  in  thought;  I  laboured  to  give  proof 
What  power  dwells  in  this  beauty  you  admire  so; 
And  when  you  see  how  soon  it  hafh  transform'd 

him, 
And  with  what  superstition  he  adores  it. 
Determine  as  you  please.  v 

Ladis.  I  will  look  on 
This  pageant ;  but 

Hon.  When  you  have  seen  and  heard,  sir, 
The  passages  which  I  myself  discover'd, 
And  could  have  kept  conceal'd,  had  I  meant 

basely. 
Judge  as  you  please. 

Ladis.  Well,  Til  observe  the  issue. 

Eubu.  How  had  you  tia'en  this,  general,  in  your 
wife  ? 

Ferd.  As  a  strange  curiosity  ;  but  queens 
Are  privileged  above  subjects,  aud  'tis  fit,  sir. 

\Es:mnt. 

SCENE  IV. 
Another  Room  in  the  same. 

•   Fiffiter  Mathias  and  Baptjsta* 

Bapt.  You  are  much  alter'd,  sir,  since  the  last 
night, 
When  the  queen  left  you,  and  look  cheerfully, 
Your  dulness  quite  blown  oven 


THE  PICTURE.  ?U 

Math.  I  have  seen  a  vision 

?'his  morning,  makes  it  good;*  and  never  was 
n  such  security  as  at  this  instant, 
Fall  what  can  fall :  and  when  the  queen  appears!^ 
.Whose  shortest  absence  now  is  tedious  to  me, 
Observe  the  encounter. 

Enter  Honoria.    Ladislaus,  Eubulus,  Fejrdi-* 
-  NAND,  flwrfAcANTHE,  With  othcvSy  appear  abovc. 

Bapt.  She  already  is 
Enter'd  the  lists. 

Math.  And  I  prepared  to  meet  her. 

Bapt.  I  know  my  duty.  [Going. 

Hon.  Not  so,  you  may  stay  now. 
As  a  witness  of  our  contract. 

Bapt.  I  obey 
In  alb  things,  madam. 

Hon.  Where's  that  reverence. 
Or  rather  superstitious  adoration, 
Which,  captive-like,  to  my  triumphant  beauty 
You  paid  last  night?  No  humble  knee,  nor  sign 
Of  vassal  duty  !  sure  this  is  the  foot, 
To  whose  proud  cover,  and  then  happy  in  it. 
Your  lips  were  glued ;  and  that  the  neck  then 

ofFer'd, 
To  witness  your  subjection,  to  be  trod  on : 
Your  certain  loss  of  life  in  the  king's  anger 
Was  then  too  mean  a  price  to  buy  my  fiavour; 
And  that  false  glow-worm  fire  of  constancy 
To  your  wife,  extinguish'd  by  a  greater  light 
Shot. from  our  eyes ; — and  that,  it  may  be,  (being 
Too  glorious  to  be  look'd  on,)  hath  deprived  you 
Of  speech  and  motion :  but  I  will  take  off 

^  Math.  I  have  seen  a  vUion 

This  mornings  makes  it  good^^     Meaning  that  the  picture  had 
recoTered  its  natural  colour.  T|ii3  scene  is  inimitablj  beautiful. 


±\9  THfi  Picture. 

A  little  from  the  splendour,  and  descend 

From  my  own  height^and  in  your  lowness hear yoa 

Plead  as  a  suppliant. 

Math.  I  do  remember 
I  once  saw  such  a  woman. 

Hon.  How ! 

Math.  And  then 
She  did  appear  a  most  magnificent  queen, 
And,  what's  more,  virtuous,  though  somewhat 

darken 'd 
With  pride,  and  self-^opinion. 

Eubu.  Call  you  this  courtship? 

Math.  And  she  was  happy  in  a  royal  husband, 
Whom  envy  could  not  tax,  unless  it  were 
For  his  too  much  indulgence  to  her  humours,    . 

Eubu.  Pray  you,  sir,  observe  that  touch,  'tis 
to  the  purpose ; ' 
I  like  the  play  the  better  for't. 

Math.  And  she  lived  ^ 

Worthy  her  birth  and  fortune :"  you  retain  yet 
Some  part  of  her  angelical  form ;  but  when 
Envy  to  the  beauty  of  another  woman, 
Inferior  to  hets,  one  that  she  never 
Had  seen,  but  in  her  picture,  had  dispersed 
Infection  through  her  veins,  and  loyalty. 
Which  a  great  queen,  as  she  was,  should,  have 

nourishM, 
Grew  odious  to  her — ~ 

Hon.  I  am  thunderstruck. 

Math.  And  lust,  in  all  the  bravery  it  could 
borrow 
From  majesty,  howe'er  disguised,  had  ta'en 
Sure  footing  in  the  kingdom  of  her  heart. 
The  throne  of  chastity  once,  how,  in  a  moment. 
All  that  was  gracious,  great,  and  glorious  in  her, 
And  won  upon  all  hearts,  like  seeming  shadows 
Wanting  true  substance,  vanished  ! 


THE  PICTURE.  ms 

Hon.  How  his  reasons 
Work  on  my  soul ! 

Math.  Retire  into  yourself ; 
Your  own  strengths,  madam,  strongly  mann'd 

with  virtue, 
And  be  but  as  you  were,  and  there's  no  o$ce 
So  base,  beneath  the  slavery  that  men 
Impose  on  beasts,  but  I  will  gladly  bow  to. 
But  as  yod  play  and  juggle  with  a  stranger, 
Varying  your  shapes  like  Thetis,   though  the 

beauties      - 
Of  all  that  are  by  poets*  raptures  sainted  • 
Were  now  in  you  united,  you  should  pass 
Pitied  by  me,  perhaps,  but  not  regarded. 

Eubu.  If  this  take  not,  I  am  cheated. 

Math.  To  slip  once, 
Is  incident,  and  excused  by  human  frailty ; 
But  to  fall  ever,  damnable.    We  were  both 
Guilty,  I  grant,  in  tendering  our  affection ; 
But,  as  I  hope  you  will  do,  I  repented. 
When  we  are  grown  up  to  ripeness,  our  life  is 
Like  to  this  [magick]  picture.*    While  we  run 
A  constant  race  in  goodness,  it  retains 
The  just  proportion ;  but  the  journey  being 
Tedious,  ancl  sweet  temptation  in  the  way. 
That  may  in  some  degree  divert  us  from 
The  roadf  that  we  put  forth  in,  ere  we  end 

«  Of  nil  nature  by  poets^  raptures  sainted]  The  modern  edi* 
tors,  trembling  for  the  daring  flights  of  Massinger,  hare  kindljr 
brought  him  down  to  the  ordinary  level :  they  read, 

Oft$U  that  are  by  poets*  raptures  painted  1 
The  chang;^  is  the  more  to  be  admired,  as  the  old  copy,  to  sheyr 
the  expression  was  a  strong  one,  gave  it  with  a  capital  letter. 

ft  .-.    '  our  life  is 

Like  to  this pictured]    A  word  has  dropt  out  at  the 

press,  or  been  omitted  by  the  transcriber.  That  which  I  haf  9 
inserted,  fills  the  Toid^  and  is  not,  perhaps,  farfcom.tbe  nemuiie 
reading. 

VOL.  Ill,  *  Q 


214  THE   PICTURE. 

Our  pilgrimage,  it  may,  like  this,  turn  yellowy 
Or  be  with  blackness  clouded:  but  when  wc 
Find  we  have  gone  astray,  and  labour  to 
Risturn  unto  our  never-failing  guide. 
Virtue,  contrition,  with  unfeigned  tears, 
The  spQts  of  vice  wash'd  off,  will  soon  restore  it 
To  the  first  pureness. 

Hon,  I  am  disenchanted  : 
Mercy,  O  mercy,  heavens  !  [Kneels. 

Ladis.  I  am  ravish'd 
With  what  I  have  seen  and  heard. 

Ferd.  Let  us  descend, 
And  hear  the  rest  below. 
Eubu.  This  hath  fallen  out 

Beyond  my  expectation.  \They  retire. 

Hon.  How  have  I  wander'd 

Out  of  the  track  of  piety  !  and  misled 

By  overweening  pride,  and  flattery 
^  Of  fawning  sycophants,  (the  bane  of  greatness,) 

Could  never  meet  till  now  a  passenger,  ^ 

That  in  his  charity  would  set  me  right. 

Or  stay  me  in  my  precipice  to  ruin. 

How  ill  have  I  return'd  your  goodness  to  me ! 

The  horror,  in  my  thought  oft,  turns  me  marble : 

But  if  it  may  be  yet  prevented 

Re-enter  Ladislaus,  Eubulus,  Ferdinand, 
AcANTHE,  and  others^  below. 

O  sir, 
What  can  I  do  to  shew  my  sorrow,  or 
With  what  brow  ask  your  pardon? 

Ladis.  Pray  you,  rise. 

Hon.  Never,  till  you  forgive  me,  and  receive 
Unto  your  love  and  favour  a  changed  woman : 
My  state  and  pride  turn'd  to  humility,  henceforth 


THE    PICTURE.  US 

Shall  wait  on  your  commands,  and  my  obedience 
Stecr'd  only  by  your  will. 

LadU.  And  that  will  prove 
A  second  and  a  better  marriage  to  me. 
All  is  forgotten. 

Hon.  Sir,  I  must  not  rise  yet, 
Till,  with  a  free  confession  of  a  crime 
Unknown  to  you  yet,  and  a  following  suit, 
Which  thus  I  beg,  be  granted. 

Ladis.  I  melt  with  you  : 
'Tis  pardon'd,  and  confirm 'd  thus.       [Raises  her. 

Hon.' Know  then,  sir, 
In  malice  to  this  good  knight's  wife,  I  practised 
Ubaldo  and  Ricardo  to  corrupt  her. 

Bapt.  Thence  grew  the  change  of  the  picture* 

[Aside. 

Hon.  And  how  far 
They  have  prevail'd,  I  am  ignorant :  now,  if  you, 

sir. 
For  the  honour  of  this  good  man,  may  be  entreated 
To  travel  thither,  it  being  but  a  day's  journey, 
To  fetch  them  off 

Ladis.  We  will  put  on  to  night. 

Bapt.  I,  if  you  please,  your  harbinger. 

Ladis.  I  thank  you. 
Let  me  embrace  you  in  my  arms ;  your  service 
Done  on  the  Turk,  compared  with  this,  weight 
nothing. 

Math.  I  am  still  your  humble  creature. 

Ladis.  My  true  friend. 

Ferd.  And  so  you  are  bound  to  hold  him. 

Eubu*  Such  a  plant 
Imported  to  your  kingdom,  and  here  grafted. 
Would  yield  more  fruit  than  all  the  idle  weeds 
That  suck  up  your  rain  of  favour. 

Ladis.  In  my  will 
ril  not  be  wanting.   Prepare  for  our  journey.    ' 


2J6  THE  PICTURE. 

V 

In  act  be  my  Honoria  now,  not  name. 

And  to  all  aftertimes  preserve  thy  fame.  [E:Feunt. 


ACT  V.    SCENE  L    , 

Bohemia.    A  Hall  in  Mathias'  House. 

Enter  Sophia,  Corisca,  and  Hilario. 

S(^h.  Are  they  then  so  humble  ? 
IiiL  Hunger  and  hard  labour 
Have  tamed  them,  madam;   at  the  first  they 

bellow'd 
Like  stags  ta'en  in  a  toil,  and  would  not  work 
For  sullenness  ;  but  when  they  found,  without  it, 
There  was  no  eating,  and  that,  to  starve  to  death, 
Was  much  against  their  stomachs ;  by  degrees, 
Against  their  wills,  they  fell  to  it. 

Coris.  And  now  feed  on 
The  little  pittance  you  allow,  with  gladness. 
Hil.  I  do  remember  that  they  stopp'd  their 
noses 
Atthesightof  beef  and  mutton,  as  coarse  feeding 
For  their  fine  palates ;  but  now,  their  work  being 

ended. 
They  leap  at  a  barley  crust,  and  hold  cheese- 
parings. 
With  a  spoonful  of  palFd  wine  pour'd  in  their 

water. 
For  festival-exceedings/ 

7  For  feitival-exceedingB.]    ^<  At  the  Middle  Temple  an  addi- 
tiODal  4lih  to.  the  regular  diniier  is  still  called  ^^  exceedings;'' 


THE  PICTURE.  nf 

Carts.  When  I  examine 
My  spinster's  work,  he  trembles  like  a  prentice, 
And  takes  a  box  on  the  ear,  when  I  spy  faults 
And  botches  in  his  labour,  as  a  favour 
From  a  curst  mistress. 

Hih  The  other,  too,  reels  well 
For  his  time ;  and  if  your  ladyship  would  please 
To  see  theta  for  your  sport,  since  they  want  airing, 
It  would  do  well,  in  my  judgment ;  you  shall  hear 
Such  a  hungry  dialogue  from  them  ! 

Soph.  But  suppose. 
When  they  are  out  of  prison,  they  should  grow 
Rebellious  ? 

HiL  Never  fear't ;  FU  undertake 
To  lead  them  out  by  the  nose  with  a  coarse  thread 
Of  the  one's  spinning,  and  make  the  other  reel 

after, 
And  without  grumbling;    and  when  you  are 

weary  of 
Their  company,,  as  easily  return  them. 

Coris.  Dear  madam,  it  will  help  to  drive  away 
Your  melancholy. 

Soph.  Well,  on  this  assurance, 
I  am  content ;  bring  them  hitlier. 

HiL  I  will  do  it 
In  stately  equipage.  \E2nU 

Soph.  They  have  confessed,  then. 
They  were  set  on  by  the  queen,  to  taint  me  in 
My  loyalty  to  my  lord  ? 

Coris.  Twas  the  main  cause. 
That  brought  them  hither. 


to  which  appellation  Mastinger  alludes,  in  the  Picture^  by  tha 
expression  o(  ftstivaUexccedings ;  bat  his  editor,  Gozeter,  not 
knowing  the  origin  of  the  phrase,  thinks  ^^  exceeding  festival 
had  been  better."  Hocclive's  Poems,  by  Mason,  4to.  1795, 
p.  67.    For  this  extract  I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Waldron. 


218  THE  PICTURE. 

Soph.  I  am  glad  I  know  it ; 
And  as  I  have  begun,  before  I  end 
I'll  at  the  heig^  revenge  it ;  let  us  step  aside^ 
They  come :  the  object's  so  ridiculous. 
In  spite  of  my  sad  thoughts,  I  cannot  but  lend 
A  forced  smile  to  grace  it. 

Re-enter  Hilario,  with  Ubaldo  ^pinningy  and 

RiCARDO  reeling.' 

HiL  Come  away  : 
Work  as  you  go,  and  lose  no  time,  'tis  precious  ; 
You'll  find  it  in  your  commons. 

Ric.  Commons,  call  you  it  1 
The  word  is  proper ;  I  have  grazed  so  long 
Upon  your  commons,  I  am  almost  starv'd  here. 

HiL  Work  harder,  and  they  shall  be  better'd. 

Ubald.  Better'd  ! 
Worser  they  cannot  be  ;  would  I  might  lie 
Like  a  dogunder  her  table,  and  serve  for  a  foot* 

stool, 
So  I  might  have  my  belly  full  of  that 
Her  Iceland  cur  refuses ! 

HiL  How  do  you  like 
Your  airing  ?  is  it  not  a  favour  ? 

Ric.  Yes; 
Just  such  a  one  as  you  use  to  a  brace  of  grey- 
hounds, 
When  they  are  led  out  of  their  kennels  to  scumber; 
But  our  case  is  ten  times  harder,  we  have  nothing 
In  our  bellies  to  be  vented  :-  if  you  will  b^ 

'  I  haye  already  obseryed  that  Massinger  had  looked  into 
Whetstone's  Pa  Zacc  of  P/fa*«rc,  where  this  story  occurs.  AU 
.the  obligation,  however,  whieh  he  owed  to  it,  seems,  as  Mr* 
Gilchrist  observes,  to  be  confined  to  the  following  hint : 

'      —  ^^  Alberto  spinning  thread, 
^^  And  Udislao  reeling  it,  with  fretting  well  nigh  dead.'^ 


THE  PICTURE.  249 

An  honest  ycoman-fewterer/  feed  us  first, 
And  walk  us  after. 

HiL  Yeoman-fewterer ! 
Such  another  word  to  your  governor,  and  you  go 
Supperless  to  bed  for't. 

Ubald.  Nay,  even  as  you  please; 
The  comfortable  names  of  breakfasts,  dinners. 
Collations,  supper,  beverage,  are  words 
Worn  out  of  our  remembrance. 

Ric.  O  for  the  steam 
Of  meat  in  a  cook's  shop ! 

Ubald.  I  am  so  dry, 
I  have  not  spittle  enough  to  wet  my  fingers 
When  I  draw  my  flax  from  my  distaft'. 

Ric.  Nor  I  strength 
To  raise  my  hand  to  the  top  of  my  rceler.    Oh ! 
I  have  the  cramp  all  over  me. 

9  An  honest  yeomaiufewtererj  In  this  and  the  preceding 
speech  the  terms  are  borrowed  from  the  kennel ;  fewtererj  a 
name  which  frequently  occurs  in  our  old  treatises  on  hunting, 
was  the  person  who  took  charge  of  the  dogs,  immediatelj  under 
the  huntsman. 

^^  This  term  is  not  explained  with  sufficient  precision.  The 
popular  hunting  in  Massinger's  day  was  that  of  the  hart,  ^nd 
'  to  thiB  the  dogs  were  led  in  slips  or  couples,  not  loose  in  a  pack 
as  in  our  present  fox-chase.  To  conduct  the  dogs  to  the  scene 
of  action,  was  the  office  of  the  yeomah^ewterery  and  when  it  is 
remembered  that  the  hart  was  discovered  and  hunted  by  the  slot 
(or  foot-steps,)  by  the  effects  of  his  antlers  ujpon  the  trees,  and 
other  minute  circumstances,  the  necessity  of  such  an  attendant 
will  be  sufficiently  clear.  The  same  practice  extended  to  cours- 
ing*  In  a  collection  of  rules  for  coursing,  established  by  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  it  is  ordered,  ^'  firsts 
that  he  which  was  chosen  femterer^  or  UtterMose  of  the  greym 
hounds^  should  receive  the  houtids  matehed  to  run  together  into 
his  leash  as  soon  as  he  come  into  the  field,  and  to  follow  the 
hare  finder  till  he  coii^e  into  the  forme,  &c.  &c.'* — Gilchbist. 

Blount  derires  this  word  from  the  French  vaultre,  which,  ,a8 
Cotgrave  'says,  means  a  mongrel  hound ;  whence  velturiw^  and 
voidtariutf  a  huntsman* 


880  THE  PICTURE. 

Hil  What  do  you  think 
Were  best  to  apply  to  it?  A  cramp-stoUe,  as  I 

take  it, 
Were  very  useful. 

Ric,  On  !  no  more  of  stones/ 
We  have  been  used  too  long  like  hawks  already. 
Ubald.  We  are  not  so  high  in  bur  flesh  now  to 
need  casting, 
We  will  come  to  an  empty  fist^ 
Hil.  Nay,  that  you  shall  not* 
So  ho,  birds  ^*— [Holds  up  apiece  of  bread.}^}low 

the  eyasses  scratch  and  scramble ! 
Take  heed  of  a  surfeit,  do  not  cast  your  gorges; 
This  is  more  than  I  have  commission  for;   be 
thankful. 
Soph.  Were  all  that  study  the  abuse  of  women. 


>     Ric.  Oh/  no  more  of  sUmeSy 

We  have  been  used  too  long  like  hawks  already. 
Ubald.  We  are  not  so  high  in  ouH  flesh  now  to  need  casting^ 

We  will  come  to  an  empty ^t.]  To  understand  this,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  ha?e  recourse  to  the  treatise  on  the  ^^  noble  science 
of  hawking."—"  When  the  hawk  will  come  to  the  lure,  then 
give  her  every  night  stones^  till  yon  find  her  stomach  good :  after 
that,  profer  her  castingy  to  make  her  cleanse  and  purge  her 
gorge."  The  Gentleman* s  Recreation^  p.  135« 

Humanity  has  seldom  obtained  a  greater  triumph  in  the 
animal  world,  than  in  the  abolition  of  this  most  execrable  pur- 
suit,  compared  to  which,  cock-fighting  and  bulUbaidng  ^re  in- 
nocent amusements :  and  this,  not  so  much  on  account  of  the 
game  killed  in  the  open  field,  as  of  the  immense  number  of 
domestic  animals  sacrificed  to  the  instruction  bf  the  hawk.  The 
blood  runs  cold,  while  we  peruse  the  calm  directions  of  the 
brutal  falconer,  to  impale,  tie  down,  fasten  by  the  beak,  break 
the  leg&and  wings  of  liting  pigeons,  hens,  and  sometimes  herons, 
for  the  hourly  exercise  of  the  hawk,  who  was  thus  enable^  to 
pull  them  to  pieces  without  resistance. 

*  So  ho,  birds!  How  the  eysLSses  scratch  and  scramble /]  Sohoy 
birds  !  was  the  falconer's  call  to  feed.   An  eyass^  as  I  learn  from 
the  respectable  authority  quoted  above,  is  a  young  hawk  newly, 
taken  out  of  the  nest^  and  not  able  to  prey  fbr  himselA 


THE  PICTURE.  fisi 

Used  thus,  the  city  would  not  swarm  with 

cuckolds. 
Nor  so  many  tradesmen  break* 

Coris.  Pray  you^  appear  now, 
And  mark  the  alteration.    [Sophia  comes  forward, 

HiL  To  your  work, 
My  lady  is  in  presence ;  shew  your  duties : 
Exceeding  well. 

Soph.  Mow  do  your  scholars  profit  ? 

IiiL  Hold  up  your  heads  demurely.    Prettily, 
For  young  beginners, 

Coris.  And  will  do  well  in  time, . 
If  they  be  kept  in  awe. 

Ric.  In  awe  !  I  am  sure 
I  quake  like  an  aspen  leaf* 

Ubald.  No  mercy,  lady  ? 

Ric.  Nor  intermission  ? 

Soph.  Let  me  see  your  work : 
Fie  upon't,  what  a  thread's  here  !  a  poor  cobler's 

wife 
Would  make  a  finer  to  sew  a  clown*s  rent  startup;* 
And  here  you  reel  as  you  were  drunk. 

Ric.  I  am  sure 
It  is  not  with  wine. 

Soph.  O,  take  heed  of  wine ; 
Cold  water  is  far  better  for  your  healths, 
Of  which  I  am  very  tender ;  you  had  foul  bodies. 
And  must  continue  in  this  physical  diet, 
Till  the  cause  of  your  disease  be  ta'en  away, 


J  ■■   ■  !■     ii  1 1 .1  a  clotDnU  rent  startup ;]  A  startup^ 

Mr.  M.  Mason  says,  is  part  of  a  man*s  dress-f^so,  indeed,  is  a 
bag. wig  and  sword.  It  appears,  from  many  passages  in  oar  old 
writers,  that  a  startup  was  a  coarse  kind  of  half-boot  or  spatter- 
dash  with  thick  soles ;  thepero  of  the  ancients': 

"  Draw  close  into  the  covert,  lest  the  wet, 

'^  Which  falls  like  lazj  mists  upon  the  ground, 

'^  Soke  through  your  stariups.*^    The  Faithful  Shepherim. 


222  THE  PICTURE. 

For  fear  of  a  relapse ;  and  that  is  dangerous : 
Yet  I  hope  already  that  you  are  in  some 
Degree  recover'd,  and  that  way  to  resolve  me, 
Answer  me  truly ;  nay,  what  I  propound 
Concerns  both ;  nearer:  what  would  younow  give. 
If  your  means  were  in  your  hands,  to  lie  all  night 
With  a  fresh  and  handsome  lady  ? 

Ubald.  How  !  a  lady  ? 
O,  I  am  past  it ;  hunger  with  her  razor 
Hath  made  me  an  eunuch. 

Bic.  For  a  mess  of  porridge, 
Well  sopp'd  with  a  bunch  of  radish  and  a  carrot, 
I  would  sell  my  barony ;  but  for  women,  oh  1 
No  more  of  women :  not  a  doit  for  a  doxy, 
After  ihis  hungry  voyage. 

JSoph.  These  are  truly 
Good  symptoms ;  let  them  not  venture  too  much. 

in  the  air, 
Till  they  are  weaker/ 

Ric.  This  is  tyranny. 

Ubald.  Scorn  upon  scorn. 

Soph.  You  were  so 
In  your  malicious  intents  to  me, 

Enter  a  Servant. 

And  therefore  'tis   but  justice What's  the 

business  ? 
Stvo.  My  lord's  great  friend,  signror  Baptista, 
madam. 
Is  newly  lighted  from  his  horse,  with  certain 
Assurance  of  my  lord's  arrival. 
Soph.  How! 

^  Till  they  art  weaker.]  Sophia  still  affects  to  consider  them 
as  too  string  to  be  trusted  abroad,  consistently  with  her  safetj : 
there  is  much  good  humour  and  pleasantry  in  this  scene. 


THE  PICTURE.  223 

And  stand  I  trifling  here?  Hence  with  the  mon- 
grels 
To  their  seyeral  kennels ;  there  let  them  howl  in 

private ; 
I'll  be  no  further  troubled. 

[Ej^eunt  Sophia  and  Servant . 

Ubald.  O  that  ever 
I  saw  this  fury ! 

Ric.  Or  look'd  on  a  woman 
But  as  a  prodigy  ih  nature  ! 

HiL  Silence; 
No  more  of  this. 

Coris.  Methinks  you  have  no  cause 
To  repent  your  being  here. 

HiL  Have  you  i^ot  learnt, 
When  your  states  arc  spent,  your  several  trades 

to  live  by, 
And  never  charge  the  hospital  ? 

Coris.  Work  but  tightly, 
And  we  will  not  use  a  dish-clout  in  the  house. 
But  of  your  spinning. 

Ubald.  O,  I  would  this  hemp 
Were  turnM  to  a  halter  ! 

Hil.  Will  you  march  ? 

Ric.  A  soft  one. 
Good  general,  I  beseech  you. 

Ubald.  I  can  hardly 
Draw  my  legs  after  me. 

xzi/.  For  a  crutch,  you  may  use 
Your  distaff ;  a  good  wit  makes  use  of  all  things. 

[Exeunt. 


5IS4  THE  PICTURE. 


SCENE  II. 

A  Roam  in  the  same. 

Enter  Sophia  and  Baptista. 

Soph.  Was  he  jealous  of  me  ? 

Bapt.  There's  no  perfect  love 
Without  some  touch  oPt,  madam. 

Soph.  And  my  picture. 
Made  by  your  devilish  art,  a  spy  upon 
My  actions  !  I  ne'er  sat  to  be  drawn, 
Nor  had  you,  sir,  commission  for't. 

Bapt.  Excuse  me; 
At  his  earnest  suit  I  did  it. 

Soph.  Very  good  : — 
Was  I  grown  so  cheap  in  his  opinion  of  me  ? 

J3^^  The  prosperous  events  that  crown  hii 
fortunes, 
May  qualify  the  offence. 

Soph.  Good,  the  events  l-^- 
The  sanctuary  fools  and  madmen  fly  to. 
When   their  rash  and   desperate    undertakings 

thrive  well : 
But  good  and  wise  men  are  directed  by 
Grave  counsels,  and  with  such  deliberation 
Proceed  in  their  affairs,  that  chance  has  nothing 
To  do  with  them  :  howsoe'er,  take  the  pains,  sir, 
To  meet  the  honour  (in  the  king  and  queen's 
Approaches  to  my  house)  that  breaks  upon  me; 
I  will  expect  them  with  my  best  of  care. 

Bapt.  To  entertain  such  royal  guests — . — 

Soph.  I  know  it; 
Leave  that  to  me,  sir.    [Ea^it  BaptistaJ\   What 
should  move  the  queen, 


THE  PICTURE.  ias 

So  given  to  ease  £^nd  pleasure,  as  fame  speaks  her. 
To  such  a  journey !  or  work  on  ray  lord, 
To  doubt  my  loyalty,  nay,  more,  to  take,     f 
For  the  resolution  of  his  fears,  a  course 
That  is  by  holy  writ  denied  a  christian  ? 
'Twas  impious  in  him,  and  perhaps  the  welcome 
He  hopes  in  my  embraces,  may  deceive 

[Trumpets  sounded. 
His  expectation.    The  trumpets  speak 
The  king's  arrival :  help,  a  woman's  wit  now. 
To  make  him  know  his  fault,  and  my  just  anger ! 


SCENE   III. 

A  Hall  in  the  Same. 

A  Flourish.  Enter  Ladislaus,  Ferdinand, 
EuBULus,  Mathias,  Baptista,  Honoria, 
and  Ac  A  N  T  H  £,  with  Attendants. 

Eubu.  Your  majesty  must  be  weary. 

Hon.  No,  my  lord, 
A  willing  mind  makes  a  hard  journey  easy. 

Math.  Not  Jove,  attended  on  by  Hermes,  was 
More  welcome  to  the  cottage  of  Philemon, 
And  his  poor  Baucis,  than  vour  gracious  self, 
Your  matchless  queen,  and  all  your  royal  train. 
Are  to  your  servant  and  his  wife. 

Ladis.  Where  is  she  ? 

Hon,  I  long  to  see  her  as  my  now-loved  rival. 

Eubu.  And  I  to  have  a  smack  at  her ;  'tis  a 
cordial    . 
To  an  old  man,  better  than  sack  and  a  toast 
Before  he  goes  to  supper. 

Math.  Ha  1  is  my  house  turn'd 


n6  THE  PICTURE. 

To  a  wilderness  ?  nor  wifri  nor  servants  ready, 
With  all  rites  due  to  majesty,  to  receive 
Such  unexpected  blessings  !  You  assured  me 
Of  better  preparation  ;  hath  not 
The  excess  of  joy  transported  her  beyond 
Her  understanding  ? 

Bapt.  I  now  parted  from  her, 
And  gave  her  your  directions. 

Math.  How  shall  I  beg 
Your  majesties'  patience!  sure  my  family's  drunk, 
Or  by  some  witch,  in  envy  of  my  glory, 
A  dead  sleep  thrown  upon  them. 

Enter  Hilario  and  Servants. 

Ser'v.  Sir. 

Math.  But  that 
The  sacred  presence  of  the  king  forbids  it. 
My  sword  should  make  a  massacre  among  you. 
Where  is  your  mistress  ? 

Hil.  First,  you  are  welcome  home,  sir  : 
Then  know,  she  says  she's  sick,  sir. — ^There's  no 

notice 
Taken  of  my  bravery  !*  [Aside. 

Math.  Sick  at  such  a  time  ! 
It  cannot  be  :  though  she  were  on  hei;  deathbed, 
And  her  spirit  e'en  now  departed,  here  stand  they 
Could  call  it  back  again,  and  in  this  honour. 
Give  her  a  second  being.     Bring  me  to  her; 
I  know  riot  what  to  urge,  or  how  to  redeem 
This  mortgage  of  her  manners. 

[Eo'eunt  Mathias,  Hilario,  and  Servants. 


*  Therf^s  no  notice 
Taken  of  my  bravery !]    It  should  be  observed  that  Hilario 
iras  dressed  in  the  gay  caparisons  of  the  two  unfortunate  cour* 
tiers. 


THE  PICTURE.  far 

Eubu,  There's  no  climate 
On  the  world,  I  think,  where  one  jade's  trick  or 
other  ' 

Reigns  not  in  women. 

Ferd.  You  were  ever  bitter 
Against  the  sex. 

Ladis.  This  is  very  strange. 

Hon.  Mean  women 
Have  their  faults,  as  well  as  queens* 

Ladis.  O,  she' appears  now. 

Re-enter  Mathias  with  Sophia  ;   Hilario 

following. 

Math.  The  injury  that  you  conceive  I  have 
done  you 
Dispute  hereafter,  and  in  your  perverseness 
Wrong  not  yourself  and  me. 

Soph.  I  am  past  my  childhood,* 
And  need  no  tutor. 

Math.  This  is  the  great  king, 
To  whom  I  am  engaged  till  death  for  all 
I  stand  possess'd  of. 

Soph.  My  humble  roof  is  proud,  sir. 
To  be  the  canopy  of  so  much  greatness" 
Set  off  with  goodness.  ' 

Ladis.  My  own  praises  flying 
In  such  pure  air  as  your  sweet  breath,  fair  lady, 
Cannot  but  please  me. 

Math.  This  is  the  queen  of  queens. 
In  her  magnificence  to  me. 

Soph^  In  my  duty 
I  kiss  her  highness'  robe. 

*  Soph.  I  am  past  my  childhood^ 

And  need  no  tutor.']  The  pretty  penrerseness  of  Sophia  is  ex- 
cellently managed  in  this  short  conference,  and  her  breaking  put 
at  length,  highly  nataral  and  amusing. 


S88  THE  PICTURE. 

Hon.  You  s^oop  too  low 
To  lier  whose  lips  would  meet  with  yours. 

\K%sscs  her. 

Soph.  Howe'cr 
It  may  appear  preposterous  in  women, 
So  to  encounter,  'tis  your  pleasure,  madam, 
And  not  my  proud  ambition. — Do  you  hear,  sir  r 
Without  a  magical  picture,  in  the  touch 
I  find  your  print  or  close  and  wanton  kisses 
On  the  queen's  lipSi  {Aside  to  Mathias. 

Math.  Upon  your  life  be  silent : — 
And  now  salute  these  lords. 

Soph.  Since  you  will  have  me, 
You  shall  see  I  am  experienced  at  the  game, 
And  can  play  it  tightly. — You  are  a  brave  man, 
sir,  [7b  Ferdinand. 

And  do  deserve  a  free  and  hearty  welcome: 
Be  thislhe  prologue  to  it  [Kisses  him. 

Eubu.  An  old  man's  turn 
Is  ever  last  in  kissing.     I  have  lips  too. 
However  cold  ones,  madam. 

Soph.  1  will  warm  them 
With  the  fire  of  mine.  [Kisses  him. 

Eubu.  And  so  she  has  !  I  thank  you, 
I  shall  sleep  the  better  all  night  for't. 

Math.  You  express 
The  boldness  of  a  wanton  courtezan, 
And  not  a  matron's  modesty  ;  take  up,' 
Or  you  arc  disgraced  for  ever.       [Aside  to  Soph. 

&ph.  How?  with  kissing 
Feelingly,  as  you  taught  me?  would  you  have  me 
Turn  my  cheek  to  them,  as  proud  ladies  use 
To  their  inferiors,  as  if  they  intended 
Some  business  should  be  wbisper'd  in  their  ear, 
And  not  a  salutation  ?  what  I  do, 

T  .         take  tg>,]  i.  ••  check 

jourself.    See  Vol.  II.  p.  447. 


THE  PICTURE.  229; 

I  will  do  freely ;  now  I  am  in  the  humour^ 
I'll  fly  at  all :  are  there  any  mote  ? 

Math.  Forbear, 
Qr  you  will  raise  my  anger  to  a  height 
That  will  descend  in  fury. 

Soph.  Why  ?  you  know 
How  to  resolve  yourself  what  my  intents  are, 
By  the  iielp  of  Mephostophilus,'  and  your  picture :. 
Pray  you,  look  upon't  again.     I  humbly  thank 
The  queen's  great  care  of  me  while  you  were 

absent. 
She  knew  how  tedious  'twas  for  a  young  wjfei 
And  being' for  that  time  a  kind  of  widow, 
To  pass  a^ay  her  melancholy  hours    . 
Without  good  company,  and  in  charity,  there- 
fore, 
Provided  for  me :  out  of  her  own  store. 
She  cuU'd  the  lords  Ubaldo  and  Ricardo, 
Two  principal  oourtiers  for  ladies'  service. 
To  do  me  all  good  offices ;  and  as  such 
Employ'd  by  her,  I  hope  I  have  received 
And  entertain'd  them ;  nor  shall  they  depart, 
Without  the  effect  arising  from  the  cause 
That  brought  them  hither. 

Math.  Thou  dost  belie  thyself: 
I  know  that  in  my  absence  thou  wert  honest, 
However  now  turn'd  monster^ 

Soph.  The  truth  is. 
We  did  not  deal,  like  you,  in  speculations 
On  cheating  pictures ;  we  knew  shadows  were 
No  substances,  and  actual  performance 
The  best  assurance.    1  will  bring  them  hither, 

'  By  the  help  of  Mepbostopbilut,]  i.  •.  Baptbta.  Mephmt^r 
pUlw  is  the  name  of  a  fieDd,  or  familiar  spirit,  in  the  History  (ff 
Dr.  Faustus^  as  well  as  in  the  play  of  that  name,  by  Chri&topher 
Marlow^  He  is  also  mentioned  by  Shakspeare,  Jonson,  Fletcher, 
and,  indeed,  by  most  of  par  old  dramatists. 
VOL.  III.  <^  R 


4S0  THE  PICTURE. 

To  make  good  in  this  presence  so  much  for  me. 
Some  minutes  space  1  beg  your  majesties'  par- 
don.— 
You  are  moved  now: — champ  upon  this  bit  a 

little, 
Anon  you  shall  have  another.  Wait  me>  Hilario. 

[Ed^eunt  Sophia  and  HHario^ 

Ladis.  How  now  ?  tum'd  statue,  sir ! 

Math.  Fly,  and  fly  quickly, 
From  this  curbed  habitation,  or  this  Gorgon 
Will  make  you  all  as  I  am.     In  her  tongue 
Millionis  of  adders  hiss,  and  every  hair 
Upon  her  wicked  head  a  snake  more  dreadful, 
Than  that  Tisi phone  threfj^  on  Athamas, 
Which  in  his  madness  forced  him  to  dismember 
His  proper  issue.     O  that  ever  I 
Reposed  my  trust  in  magick,  or  believed 
Impossibilities !  or  that  charms  had  poWer 
To  sink  and  search  into  the  bottomless  hell 
Of  a  false  woman's  heart ! 

Eubu.  These  are  the  fruits 
Of  marriage !  an  old  bachelor  as  I  am. 
And,  what's  more,  will  continue  so,  is  not  troubled 
With  these  fine  vagaries. 

Ferd.  Till  you  arc  resolved,  sir, 
Forsake  not  hope.^ 

Bap.  Upon  my  life,  this  is 
Dissimulation. 

Ladis.  And  it  suits  not  with 
YoUr  fortitude  and  wisdom,  to  be  thus 
Transported  with  your  passioDd 

Hon.  You'  were  once 

f  Tjf/?  yotf  Are  resolved,  «?>, 
'     forsake  not  hope.]  Resolved  is  conTinced.    Tb«9  SLakspeareS 
"  By  heavens !  I  am  resolved 
^<  That  Clifford's -manhood  lies  upon  bis  tongue.''^ 
Sae  Vol.  !•  p*  277« 


THE  PICTURE.  231 

Deceivfed  in  me,  >sir,  as  I  was  in  you ; 
Yet  the  deceit  pleased  both. 
.  Math.  She  hath  confess'd  all  ; 
What  further  proof  should  I  ask  ? 

Hon.  Ytt  remember 
The  distance  that  is  interposed  between 
A  woman's  tongue  and  her  heart;  and  you  must 

'  grant,  * 

You  build  upon  no  certainties. 

Re-enter  Sophia,  Corisca,  and  Hilario,  with 
Ubaldo  and  Rica&do  in  rags^  and  spinning  and 
reelings  as  before. 

Eubu.  What  have  we  herep  v 

Soph.  You  must  conle  on,  and  shew  yourselves. 

Ubal  The  king  1 

Ric.  And  queen  too!  would  I  were  as  far  under 
the  earth 
As  I  am  above,  it ! 

Ubald.  Some  poet  will,* 
From  this  relation,  or  in  verse  or  prose. 
Or  both  together  blended,  render  us 
Ridiculoui^  to  all  ages.  ' 

Ladis.  I  remember 
This  face,  when  it  was  in  a  better  plight ; 
Are  not  you  Ricardo  ? 

Hon.  And  this  thing,  I  take  it, 
Was  once  Ubaldo.  / 

tfbald.  1  am  now  I  know  not  what 

Ric.  We  thank  your  majesty  for  employing  us 
^o  this  subtle  Circe. 

'  Sime  poet  xoill^  &c.]  There  is  someihiiig  delightful  in  these 
anticipations  of  futare  fame  by  great  minds.  They  are  the 
flowery  spots  in  the  poets  thorny  way,  which  beguile  the  weari- 
someness  of  his  pilgrimage,  and  in  despite  of  coldness  and 
iieglecfy  recoficile  him  to  his  fate. 

»H2 


832  THE  PICTURE. 

Eubu.  HoWy  my  lord  !  turnM  spinster ! 
Do  you  work  by  the  day,  or  the  great  ? 

Ferd.  Is  your  theorbo 
Turn'd  to  a  distaflP,  signior  ?  and  your  voice. 
With  which  you  chanted,  Room  for  a  lusty  gallant  t 
Tfincd  to  the  note  of  Lachrymcef* 

Eubu.  Prithee  tell  me, 
For  I  know  thou'rt  free,  how  oft,  and  to  the 

^  purpose, 
YouVe  been  merry  with  this  lady, 

Ric.  Never,  never. 

Ladis.  Howsoever,  you  should  say  so  for  your 
credit, 
Being  the  only  court-bull 

Ubald.  O,  that  ever 
I  saw  this  kicking* lieifer  I        ' 

Soph.  You  see,  madam, 
How  I   have   cured  your  servants,  and  what 

favours. 
They,  with  their  rampant  valour,  have  won  from 
.  me. 

'  Tuned  to  ike  note  of  Lacbrymas  ?']  iLachryma:  (as  sir  John 
Hawkins  informs  us  in  his  History  of  Music)  was  the  title  of  A 
musical  work  composed  by  John  Boaiand,  a  celethrated  lutanist 
in  the  time  of  king  James  I.  '^  The  title  of  it  at  length  is: 
LachrymioSf  or  seven  Tearesjigured  in  seaoen  passionate  Pavans^vntk 
divers  other  Pavansy  Galiardsj  and  MmanSj  set  forth  to  the  LutCj 
.  Violy  or  J^iolitty  in  Jive  Farts.*'  To  this  performance,  which  was 
once  exceedingly  popular,  allusions  are  found  in  most  of  our 
old  dramatists.  I  do  not  know  what  the  '^  seven  passionate'* 
(i.  e*  affecting)  compositions  were,  which  made  up  the  bulk  of 
this  collection,  but  it  seems,  from  the  following  extract,  which 
was  pointed  out  to  me  by  Mr.  Gilchrist,  that  one  of  them  was 
the  beautiful  and  pathetic  Lamentation  of  Lady  Ann  BothweU: 

^'  Balow,  my  babe,  lie  still  audsleepe, 

^<  It  grieves  me  sair  to  see  thee  weepe ;"  &c. 

<^  Cit.  You  musicians,  play  Baloo. 

^^  Wifo.  No^good  George ;  let's  have  Lachrynut. 

«  Cit.  Why,  this  is  ii."    The  Knight  <ff  the  Burning  Pesih. 


THE   PICTURE.  233 

You  may,  as  tbey  are  physic'd,  I  presume, 
Trust  a  fair  virgin.with  them ;  they  have  learn'd 
Their  several  trades  to  live  by,  apd  paid  nothing 
But  cold  andliunger  for  them  ;  and  may  now 
Set  up  for  themselves,  for  here  I  give  them  oven 
And  now  to  you,  sir ;  why  do  you  not  again    • 
Peruse  your  picture,  and  take  the  advice 
Of  your  learned ,  consort  ?  these  are  the  men,  or 

none, 
That  made  you,  as  the  Italian  says,' a  becco. 

Math.  I  know  not  which  way  to  entre^it  your 
pardon. 
Nor  am  I  worthy  of  it.     My  Sophia, 
My  best  Sophia,  here  before  the  king, 
The  queen,  these  lords,  and  all  the  lookers  on, 
I  do  renounce  my  error,  and  embrace  you. 
As  the  great  example  to  all  aftertimes, 
For  such  as  would  die  chaste  and  noble  wives^ 
With  reverence  to  imitate. 

Soph.  Not  so,  sir ; 
I  yet  hold  off.    However  I  have  purged 
My  doubted  innocence,  the  foul  aspersions, 
In  your  unmanly  doubts,  cast  on  my  honoqr| 
Cannot  so  soon  be  wash'd  oft. 

Eubu.  Shall  weliave 
More  jiggobobs  yet ! 

Soph.  When  you  went  to  the  wars, 
}  set  no  spy  upon  you,  to  observe 

'  That  made  you^  at  the  Italian  says,  a  becco.]  So  the  old 
cop7,  which  IS  far  more  humorous  than  the  sophi8ticatio9  of 
Mr.  M«  Mason— « as  the  Italians  say,  &c. 

Becco  is  rendered,  by  the  commentators  on  our  o)d  plays,  a 
cuckold ;  the  Italians,  however,  gire  it  a  more  defamatory 
.lense :  with  them  it  generally  means  what  we  call  a  wittol,  i.  e. 
one  accessary  to  his  own  disgrace.  This  too  is  the  meaning  it 
bears  in  Massinger  and  his  contemporaries,  who  were,  generally 
ipealung,  no  indifferent  Italian  scholars. 


234  THE  PICTURE. 

Which  way  you  wandcr'd,  though  our  sex  by 

nature 
Is  subject  to  suspicions  and  fears  ; 
My  confidence  in  your  loyalty  freed  me  from 

them. 
But,  to  dealy  as  you  did,  against  your  religion^ 
With  this  enchanter,  to  survey  my  actions, 
Was  more  than  woman's  weakness ;    therefore 

know, 
And  'tis  my  boon  unto  the  king,  I  do 
Desire  a  separation  from  your  bed ; 
For  I  will  spend  the  remnant  of  my  life 
In  prayer  and  meditation. 

Math.  O  take  pity 
Upon  my  weak  condition,  or  I  am 
More  wretched  in  your  innocence,  than  if 
I  had  found  you  guilty.   Have  you  shewn  a  jewel 
Out  of  the  cabinet  of  your  rich  mind, 
To  lock  it  up  again  ? — She  turns  away. 
Will  none  speak  for  me  ?  shame  and  sin  have 

robbed  me 
Of  the  use  of  my  tongue. 

Ladis.  Since  you  have  conquer'd,  madam^ 
You  wrong  the  glory  of  your  victory, 
If  you  use  it  not  with  mercy. 

Perd.  Any  penance 
You  please  to  impose  upon  him,  I  dare  warrant 
He  will  gladly  suffer. 

£ubu.  Hav^  I  lived  to  see 
But  one  good  woman,  and  shall  we  for  a  trifle, 
Have  her  turn  nun?  I  will  first. pull  down  the 

cloister. 
To  the  old  sport  again,  with  a  good  luck  to  you ! 
'Tis  not  alone  enough  that  you  are  good, 
We  must  have  some  of  the  breed  of  you ;  will 

you  destroy 
The  kind  and  race  of  goodness  ?  I  am  converted. 


THE  PICTURE-  «3|f 

And  ask  your  pardon,  madam,  for  my  ill  opinioti 
Against  the  sex;  and  shew  me  but  two  such 

more, 
I'll  marry  yet,  and  love  them* 

Hon.  She  that  yet 
Ne'er  knew  what  'twas  to  hend  but  to  the  kiog^ 
•  Thus  begs  remission  for  hinu 

Soph.  O,  dear  madam, 
Wrong  not  your  greatness  so. 

Omnes.  We  all  are  suitors. 

Ubald.  I  do  deserve  to  be  heard  among  ^he  rest% 

Ric.  And  we  have  suffer 'd  for  it. 

Soph.  I  perceive 
There's  no  resistance :  but,  suppose  I  pardon 
What's  past,  who  can  secure  fne  he'll  be  free 
From  jealousy  hereafter  ? 

Math.  I  will  be 
My  own  security  :  go,  ride,  where  you  please; 
Feast,  revel,  banquet,  and  make  choice  with  whom, 
I'll  set  no  watch  upon  you ;  and,  for  proof  of  ity 
This  cursed  picture  I  Surrender  up 
To  a  consuming  fire. 

Bapt.  As  I  abjure 
The  practice  of  my  art. 

Soph.  Upon  these  terms 
I  am  reconciled ;  and,  for  these  that  have  paid 
The  price  of  their  folly,  I  desire  your  mercy. 

LadU.  At  your  request  they  have  it. 

Ubald.  Hang  all  trades  now ! 

Ric.  I  will  find  a  new  one,  and  that  is,  to  liv6 
honest* 

HiL  These  are  ray  fees.' 

Ubald.  Pray  you,  take  them,  with  a  mischief! 

LadU.  So,  all  ends  in  peace  now. 

*  Ha.  These  are  my  fees.l  Mcaniog*the  clothes  of  the  two 
courtiers :  they,  it  should  be  recollected,  are  at  this  time  dressed 
in  the  cast  rags  of  Hilorio, 


fi3B  THE  PICTURE. 

And,  to  all  married  men,  be  this  a  caution, 
Which  they  should  duly  tender  as  their  life, 
Neither  to  dote  too  much,  nor  douht  a  wife. 

[ExeunK^ 


4  The  fondness  which  Masshiger  seems  to  haTe  felt  for  ihlj^ 
Flay  was  not  misplaced.  The  circnmstance  on  which  4t  is 
founded  ia,  indeed,  sufficiently  fantastical,  and  wa3  disallowed 
by  the  philosophy  of  his  own  age  *  hat  this  is.  no  s,eriQus  hiiy^ 
^erance  to  the  effect  of  the  piece.  It  is  distinguished  by  a  pe- 
culiar liTeliness  of  fancy,  and  an  intimate  knowledge  of  tha 
heart.  It  is  sportive  and  tender :  it  amuses  and  affectft  us ;'  andi 
a  vein  of  humour,  Qiore  brisk. than  usua},  relieves  the  impressioa 
of  the  serious  events. 

The  comic  part  is  too  attractive  in  itself  to  need  any  recom- 
inendation,  and  its  effect  is  too  powerful  to  be  missed  by  any 
reader.  But  it  may  not  be  useless  to  point  out  the  substantial^ 
^hough  less  obtrusive,  merit  of  the  serious  scenes* 

If  it  is  more  than  usually  difficult  to  ascertain  the  infli^ence  of 
•  sudden  passions  in  bosoms  generally  virtuous  and  weli  regulated, 
to  balance  the  struggle  between  habitual  principle  and  acci- 
dental temptation,  to  measure  their  impression  and  resistance, 
"^and  to  determine  the  side  to  which  the  victory  is  due ;  it  is  the 
praise  of  Massinger  to  have  surmounted  this  difficulty,  in  the 
characters  of  Mathias  and  Sophia ;  in  the  exquisite  descrlptioa 
of  their  tender  attachment,  the  casual  interruption  of  their  peace, 
its  happy  restoration,  and  the  proper  triumph  of  virtue.  His 
address  is  further  displayed  in  the  difference  of  the  causes  which 
bring  them  back  to  their  duty  and  to,  each  other.  The  fortitude, 
contentedness,  and  simplicity  of  Sophia  are  the  surej*  guardianp 
of  her  conduct;  while  the  ardent  spirit  of  Mathias,  bold  in 
peeking  advantages  abroad,  but  impatient  concerning  his  happi. 
ness  at  home,  exposes  him  more  to  the  influence  of  dangerous 
impressions.  Accordingly,  after  a  temporary  illi^sion,  she  res- 
cues herself  from  mischief  by  the  force  of  hex  own  mind.  He  is 
preserved  by  other  causes,  the  unexpected  refusal  of  Honorla, 
and  the  renewed  certainty  of  the  constancy  of  his  wife. 

As  to  the  queen  herself,  the  cause  of  their  nnhappiness,  she. 
is  described  with  much  novelty,  and  truth  pf  nature*  Mr. 
(Colman^  has  talked  of  her  pamon;  if  this  is  the  proper  termJ 
it  is  a  passion,  not  for  a  person,  but  a  principle.  She  offers  her- 
|elf  to  Mathias  frpm  no  genuine  attachment :  it  is  mere  eavj 

f  ^  his  CriHcal  Reflections  on  Me  old  Mng^i*^  f>rfmatic  fj^ri(fru 


THE  PICTURE.  S37 

*6f  the  constancy  between  bim  and  Sopbia^  and  ft  malicfons  de- 
termination to  shew  her  own  soperiority,  at  whatever  risk.  H^r 
-constitutional  vanity,  dangerously  nursed  by  the  doting  admi- 
ration of  her  husband,  impels  her  to  seduce  a  virtuous  man 
mrhom  she  does  not  love.  Her  wantonness  is  whim ;  and  she 
prepares  to  be  faithless  herself,  because  she  cannot  bear  a  rival 
jn  fidelity. 

It  is  here  to  be  remarked,  that  Massinger  seems  to  have  pre-, 
pared  this  Play  with  all  the  resources  which  he  could  command. 
In  the  Observations  on  the  Duke  of  Mtlan^  the  reader  has  been 
already  taught  to  expect  a  similarity  between  the  conjugal  dotage 
of  Sforza  and  Ladislaus,  &c.  &c.  Several  other  plays  have  been 
made  to  contribute  sentiments  and  incidents  to  the  Picture*  It 
is  impossible  to  read  Honoria's  temptation  of  Mathias,  A,ct  III. 
fic.  v«  and  not  to  remember  the  progress  of  Donusa's  solicita- 
tions, and  the  amazement  of  Vitelli — Renegado^  Act  II.  9c;  ir. 
ir-The  Roman  Actor  furnishes  other  circumstances  of  the  same 
]cind,  from  the  conversation  of  Paris  both  with  Domitia  and 
the  emperor.  Act  IV.  sc'  ii.:  and  it  is  remarkable,  that  he. 
pleads  with  the  latter,  not  only  in  the  thought,  but  in  the  very 
manner  of  Honoria:  their  argument  appears  to  contradict 
their  own  wishes,  and  this  is  equally  noticed  by  Domitian  an^ 
Mathias.  The  whimsical  weakness  to  which  Ubaldo  and  Ri- 
pardo  are  reduced,  and  the  jokes  to  which  it  exposes  them,  have 
already  amused  us  in  Jhe  characteristic  punishment  of  Perigot 
: — Farliament  of  Love,  And,  to  quote  only  one  more  instance, 
though  several  might  be  added,  the  noble  freedom  with  which 
Mathias  corrects  the  levity  of  the  queen,  Act.  IV.  sc.  iv,,  though 
greatly  jsuperior  to  it,  is  certainly  suggested  by  Gonzaga's 
^fiustere  but  spirited  rebuke  of  Aurelia-*ili<it(/ o/* // onotfr,  Act 
1V«  8C.  iv.  ' 

In  short,  Massinger  has  not  scrupled  to  adorn  this  Play  with 
whatever  was  afforded *by  the  story  itself,  or  could  be  added 
from  his  own  writings ;  and,  like  the  artist  of  old,  he  has  com- 
posed an  exquisite  Picture  from  a  collection  of  many  scattered 
beauties. 

There  are  two  morals  combined  in  this  play;  one  arising, 
from  the  doting  love  of  Ladtslaus ;  the  other,  from  the  suspi- 
cions  of  Mathias.  Vanity  is  always  unfeeling:  and,  through 
indiscreet  admiration,  may  be  carried  far  beyond  the  supposed 
frivolousness  of  its  nature,  and  become  a  raging  passion,  de- 
structive of  our  own  virtue  and  of  the  happiness  of  others* 
Again,  unreasonable  doubt  destroys  the  very  happiness  which 
it  labours  to  secure.  Irritation  is  the  natural  consequence  of  un- 
just suspicion  ;  and  the  desire  of  revenge  hurries  us  into  actioni 


f38 


THE  PICTURE. 


from  wbicli  our  better  principles  would  otherwise  have  prf* 
( lerfed  us.    What  19  worse,  we  excuse  onrsehes  in  mischief  on 
account  of  the  very  motive  on  which  we  act ;  and  are  conteot 
to  be  outrageous  on  the  flattering  principle  of  justice  itself. 


/■ 


10 


THE 


EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST, 


The  Emperor  op  the  East.]  This  Tragi-comedy  was  licensed 
for  the  stage  Af  arcTi  1 1th,  1631,  and  printed  in  the  folio wii^g year. 
The  plot  is  founded  on  the  history  of  Theodosius  the  younger^ 
lu  d^lirered  by  the  Byzantine  writers.  See  the  concluding 
Observations  by  Dr.  Ireland. 

Massinger  has  followed  his  farions  authorities^  somewhat  mor« 
closely  than  nsual ;  indeed,  he  disclaims,  in  the  Prologue,  all 
merit  on  the -score  of  invention,  the  work  being,  as  he  says,  ^'  • 
story  of  reverend  antiquity." 

Notwithstanding  the  excellence  of  this' Play,  it  met  with  som« 
opposition  at  its  first  appearance :  its  distinguished  merits,  how- 
ever, procured  it  a  representation  at  court,  and  it  finally  ssems 
to  have  grown  into  very  general  favour.  It  is  preceded,  in  the 
old  edition,  by  several  commendatory  poems,  one  of  which,  by 
W.  Singleton,  is  not  undeserving  of  praise. 

It  was  frequently  acted,  as  the  title-page  tells  us,  '^  at. the 
Blackfriars  and  Globe  Play-houses,,  by  the  King's  Mi^^sty's 
f^rvants.*' 


TO 

The  jRight  BoMutabh,  and  mjf  especial  good  Lord, 

JOHN  LORD  MOHUN, 

BARON  OF  OKEHAMPTON,  &«. 


MY  GOOD  tOBD> 

Let  my  presumption  in  styling  you  sdf  (having  nevet 
desen>ed  it  in  my  service,)  from  the  clemency  of  your  noble 
Hspositionfjlnd  pardonJ*  The  reverence  due  to  the  namt 
of  Mohun,  long  since  honoured  in  three  earls  of  Somerset^ 
and  eight  barons  of  Munster,  may  challenge  from  all  pens  a 
deserved  celebration*  And  the  rather  in  respect  those  titles 
were  not  purchased,  but  conferred^  and  continued  in  your  an^^ 
cestorSf/or  many  virtuous,  noble,  and  still  living  actions;  nor 
^er  forfeited  or  tainted,  but  when  tlie  iniquity  ofihose  times 
laboured  the  depression  of  approved  goodness,  and  in  wicked 
policy  held  it  fit  that  loyalty  and  faith,  in  taking  part  with 
the  true  prmce,  should  be  degraded  and  mulcted.  But  this 
admitting  no  further  dilation  in  this  place,  may  your  lord^ 
diip  please,  and  with  all  possible  brevity,  to  understand  the 
reasons  why  lam,  in  humble  thankfulness,  ambitious  to  shel* 
ter  this  poem  under  the  wings  of  your  honourable  protection^ 
My  worthy  friend,  Mr.  Aston  Cockayne,  your  nephew,  to 
my  extraordinary  content,  delivered  to  me  that  your  lord" 

*  MT  GOOD  LORD, 

Let  my  presumption  in  stylpig  you  «o,  &c.]  To  understand  this 
sentence,  it  ivill  be  necessary  to  recollect  that  ^'  my  good  lord,'* 
meant)  in  the  language  of  Massinger  and  his  contemporaries,  mj 
patron*  Of  this  mode  of  expression  many  instances  are  to  be 
fonnd  in  these  Tolnmes.  It  occurs  also  in  the  Spanish  Tragedy, 
which  I  mention  for  the  sake  of  correcting  a  slight  mistake : 

^  Lor.  What  would  he  with  us  ?  he  writes  us  here,  To 
stand  good  Lorenzo,  and  help  him  in  his  distress."    Act  III.  ' 

In  the  late  editions,  there  is  a  comma  after  stand^  which  per* 
Terts  the  sense. 

In  the  earl  of  Northampton's  Will,  as  quoted  by  Mr.  Parke,  > 
he  says :  ^'  I  gire  to  my  good  lord  the  earie  of  Somerset  mjr 


[  S43  ] 

^hip,  af  four  ^acani  hokrs,  sometimes  ^oouchsafed  io  peruse 
such  trifles  of  mine  as  hceot  passed  the  press,  and  not  alone 
f0arranted  them  in  your  gentle  storage,  hut  disdained  not  to 
bestow  a  remembrance  of  your.-  love,  and  intended  favour  to 
me.  I  prof  ess  to  the  worlds  t  was  exalted  with  the  bounty  f 
and  with  good  Assurance,  it  being  so  rare  in  this  age  to  meet 
with  one  noble  name,  that,  in  fear  to  be  censured  of  levity 
and  weakness,  dares  express  itself  a  friend  or  patron  to  con^ 
temned  poetry.*  Having,  therefore,  no  means  else  left  me 
to  witness  the  obligation  in  which  I  stand  most  willingly 
bound  to  your  lordship^  I  offer  this  Tragi^comedy  to  your 
gracious  acceptaw^,  no  way  despairing,  but  that  with  a  clear 
aspect  you  will  deign  to  receive  it,  (it  being  *an  induction  to 
my  future  endeavours,)  and  that  in  the  list  of  those,  thai  to 
your  merit  truly  admire  you,  you  may  descend  to  number 

your  lordshifsfaitt^ul  honourer, 

PHILIP  MJSSINGER. 


tecond  George/'  This  good  ««rl  of  Somerset,  Mr.  Parke  widn, 
^^  was  the  leading  contriTer  of  Overbury's  murder  !"  Mr.  Parke^ 
who  has  dabbled  sufficiently  in  our  old  literature,  ooght  to  havii 
known  that  good  lord  peant  simply  his  patron  and  benefaetor^ 
and  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  moral  excellence. 

*  That  this  noble  lord  not  only  faVour^d  poetry,  but  wrot# 
himself^  appears  from  sir  A«ton  Cockayne's  letters  to  his  lord« 
•hip,  in  terse*    See  Cockayne's  Poetnsy  p.  W.    Coz£Tsa. 


I  244  i 


i»iio  L  O  G  U  E* 


AT  THE  BLACKFRIARS. 

But  that  imperious  custom  warrants  it,  ' 
Our  author  with  much  wiUingness  would  omit 
This  preface  to  his  new  work^    He  hath  found, 
(And  suffer'' d for' t,)  many  are  apt  to  wound 
His  credit  in  this  kind :  and,  whether  he 
JEapress  himself  fearful,  of  peremptory. 
He  cannQt  'scape  their  censures  who  delight 
To  misapply  whatever  h^  shall  write. 
'255  his  hard  fate.    And  though  he  wiH  not.sue^ 
Or  basely  beg  such  suffrage^ yet,  to  you, 
Free  and  ingenious  spirits^  he  doth  now, 
In  me,  present  his  service,  with  his  vow. 
He  hath  done  his  best ;  and,  though  he  cannot  glory 
In  his  invention,  (this  work  being  a  story 
Of  reverend  antiquity,)  he  doth  hope, 
In  the  proportion  ofit^  and  the  scope, 
You  may  observe  some  pieces  'drawn  like  one 
Of  a  stedfast  hand  ;  and,  with  the  whiter  stone, 
To  be  mark'd  in  your  fair  censures.    More  than  this 
I  am  forbid  to  promise,  and  it  is 
With  the  most  till  you  confirm  it :  since  we  know 
Whatever  the  shaft  be,  archer,  or  the  bow 
From  which  'tis  sent,  it  cannot  hit  the  white, 
Unless  your  approbation  guide  it  right. 

*  This  prologue  has  been  hitherto  rery  incorrectljr  ^irett; 
It  is  here  reformed  from  the  old  copies. 


[  245  ]  *- 


X 


PROLOGUE 

AT  COURT. 

As  evcTy  sir^  you  lent  a  gracious  ear 
To  oppressed  innocence^  now  vouchsafe  to  hear 
A  short  petition.    At  your  feet ,  in  me^ 
The  poet  kneels^  an4  tg  your  nuyesty 
Appeals  for  justice.    What  we  now  present f 
When  first  conceived^  in  his  vote  and  intent^ 
Was  sacred  to  your  pleasure  ;  in  each  part 
With  his  best  of  fancy,  judgment^  language,  arf^ 
Fashionld  and  formed  so,  as  might  well,  and  may 
Deserve  a  welcome,  and  no  vulgar  way. 
He  durst  not,  sir,  at  such' a  solemn  feast, 
Lard  his  grave  matter  with  one  scurrilous  jest  j  . 
Sut  laboured  that  no  passage  might  appear y 
Btit  what  the  queen  without  a  blush  might  hear : 
And  yet  this  poor  work  suffered  by  the  rage 
And  envy  of  some  Catos  of  the  stage : 
Yet  still  he  hopes  this  Play,  which  then  was  seat 
With  sore  eyes,  And  condemned  out  of  f  heir  spleen^ 
May  be  by  you,  ihe  supreme  judge,  set  free, 
An4  raided  above  the  reach  of  calumny. 


/ 


VOL*  III.  *  S 


DRAMATIS  PERSONJE* 


Theodosius  the  younger^  the  emperor. 

Pauljnus,  a  kinsman  to  the  emperor. 

Philanax,  captain  of  the  guard., 

Timantus,     1 

Chrydapius,  VetinticA^  of  the  emperor^s  chambef^ 

GratianuSy    J 

Cleon,  a  traveller^  friend  to  Paulinos. 

Patriarch. 

Informer. 

Projector. 

Master  of  the  Habits  and  Manners, 

Minion  of  the  Suburbs. 

Countryian.  .  ' 

Surgeon. 

Empiric.      ' 

Pulcheria,  the  protectress,  sister  to  the  emperor. 
Athenais,  a  strange  virgin^  afterwards  empress,  and 
named  £udocia« 

Flaccilla    \*^^ H^^S^  ^^^f^'^^  9f  ^^^  ^^P^^^* 

Officers,  Suitors^  Attendants^  Guards,  Huntsman^ 

Executioners^  Servants,  Sgc.  • 

SCENE,  Constantinople^ 


ifHE 


lEMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 


ACT  I.    SCElSTE  I. 
A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

,  Enter  Paulinus  ^^^Cleo^. 

)PauL  In  your  six  years  travel,  friend,  no  doubt, 
you  have  met  with 
Many  and  rare  adventures,  and  observed 
.The  wonders  of  each  climate,  varying  in 
The  manners  and  the  men ;  atid  so  return,    . 
For  the  future.service'of  your  prince  and  country, 
In  your  understanding  better'd, 

Cle.  Sir,  I  have  made  of  it 
The  best  use  in  my  powe^  and  hope  my  gleanings 
After  the  full  crop  othereu reaped  before  me. 
Shall  not,  when  I  ani  call  d  on,  altogether 
Appear  unprofitable:  yet  I  left 
The  miracle  of  miracles  in  out  age 
At  honie  behind  me ;  every  where  abroad, 
.Fame,  with  a  true  though  prodigal'voice,  delivered 
iSuch  wonders  of  Pulchena,  the  princess, 
To  the  amazement,  nay,  astonishment  rather, 
Of  such  as  heard  it,  that  I  found  not  one, 
In  all  thestatesand  kingdoms  that  I  passed  through, 
Worthy  to  be  her  second. 

PauL  She,  indeed,  is 
A  perfect  phoenix,  and  disdains  a  rival. 

•S2 


248     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Her  infant  years,  as  you  know,  promised  much, 
But,  grown  to  ripeness,  she  transcends,  and  make* 
Credulity  her  debtor.    I  will  tell  you,' 
In  my  blunt  way,  to  entertain  the  time, 
Until  you  have  the  happiness  to  see  her. 
How  in  your  absence  she  hath  born  herself, 
And  with  all  possible  brevity ;  though  the  subject 
Is  such  a  spacious  field,  as  would  require 
An  abstract  of  the  purest  eloquence 
(Derived  from  the  most  famous  orators 
The  nurse  of  learning,  Athens,  shew'd  the  world) 
In  that  man,  that  should  undertake  to  be 
Her  true  historian. 

Cle.  In  this  you  shall  do  me 
A  special  favour. 

Paul.  Since  Arcadius'  death, 
Our  late  great  master,  the  protection  of 
The  prince,  his  son,  the  second  Theodosius, 
By  a  general  vote  and  suffrage  of  the  people, 
Was  to  her  charge  assigned,  with  the  disposurc 
Of  his  so  many  kingdoms.     For  his  person, 
She  hath  so  train'd  him  up  in  all  those  arts 
That  are  both  great  and  good,  and  to  be  wish'd 
In  an  imperial  monarcri  that  the  mother 
vOf  the  Gracchi,  grave Corcelia,  Rome  still  boasbL 

The  wise  Pulcheria  but  named,  must  be 

No  more  remember'd.     She,  by  her  example. 

Hath  made  the  court  a  kind  af  academy. 

In   which   true  honour   is    both   learn'd   and 

practised : 
Her  private  lodgings  a  chaste  nunnery. 
In  wixich  her  sisters,  as  probationers,  hear 
From  her,  their  sovereign  abbess,  all  the  precepts 
Read  in  the  school  of  virtue. 

Cle.  You  amaze  me. 

FmU.  I  shall,  ere  I  conclude;  for  here  the  wonder 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.    349 

Begins,  not  ends.    Her  soul  is  so  immense, 

And  her  strong  faculties  so  apprehensive, 

To  search  into  the  depth  of  deep  designs. 

And  of  all  natures,  that  the  burthen,  which 

To  many  men  were  insupportable, 

To  her  is  but  a  gentle  exercise, 

Ma^e,  by  the  frequent  use,  familiar  to  her. 

Cle.  With  your  good  favour,  let  tne  interrupt 
you. 
Being,  as  she  is,  in  every  part  so  perfect, 
Methinks  that  all  kings  of  our  eastern  world 
Should  become  rivals  for  hen 

Paul.  So  they  have ; 
But  to  no  purpose.    She,  that  knows  her  strength 
To  rule  and  govern  monarchs,  scorns  to  wear 
On  her  free  neck  the  servile  yoke  of  marriage ; 
And  for  one  loose  desire,  envy  itself 
Dares  not  presume  to  taint  her.    Venus'  son 
Is  blind  indeed  when  he  but  gazes  on  her; 
Her  chastity  being  a  rock  of  diamonds, 
Withwhich  encounter'd,  his  shafts  fly  in  splinters'; 
His  flaming  torches  in  the  living  spring 
Of  her  perfections  quench'd:  and,-  to  crown  all, 
She's  so  impartial  when  she  sits  upon 
The  high  tribunal,  neither  swayM  with  pity, 
Nor  awed  by  fear,  beyond  her  equal  scale, 
That  'tis  not  superstition  to  believe 
Astrea  once  more  lives  ^pon  the  earth, 
Fulcheria's  breast  her  temple. 

Ck.  You  have  given  her 
An  admirable  character. 

Paul.  She  deserves  it : 
And,  such  is  the  commanding  power  of  virtue, 
That  from  her  vicious  enemies  it  compels 
Pasans  of  praise,  as  a  due  tribute  to  her. 

[Loud  muric^ 

Cle.  What  means  this  solemn  music  ? 


450     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST, 

Paul.  Sir,*  it  ushers 
The  emperor's  morning  meditation, 
In  which  Pulcheria  is  more  than  assistant. 
Tis  worth  your  observation,  and  you  may 
Collect  from  her  expense  of  time  this  day, ' 
How   her  hours,   for  many  years,   hi^ve   beeA 
disposed  of. 

Ck.  I  am  'all  eyes  and  ears* 

JEntcr^  after  a  strain  of  solemn  music^  Phiianax,^ 
TiMANTUs,  Patriarch,  Theodosius,  Pulche- 
ria, Flaccilla,  and  AncAjyiA;  followed  by* 
Chrtsapius  and  Gratiaxus;  Servants,  andi 
Officers. 

Pul.  Your  patience,  sir. 
Let  those  corrupted  ministers  of  the  court, 
Which  you  complain  of,  our  devotions  ended,, 
Be  cited  to  appear :  for  the  ambassadors 
Who  are  importunate  to  have  audience. 
From  me  you  may  assure  them,  that  to  morrovr 
They  shall  in  public  kiss  the  emperor's  robe. 
And  we  in  private,  with  our  soonest  leisure, 
Will  give  tnem  hearing*    Have  you  especial  care^ 

too. 
That  free  access  be  granted  unto  all 
Petitioners.    The  morning  wears, — Pray  you,  on,^ 

sir; 
Time  lost  is  ne'er  recovered. 

[Ej^eunt  all  but  PauKnus  and  Ckon^ 

Paul.  Did  you  note 
The  majesty  sh^  appears  in  ? 

Cle.  Yes,  my  good  lord; 
I  was  ravish'd  with  it. 

'  Favl.  Sir,  it  ushers^  &€.]  A  moBOsyllable  bas  dropt  ont 
here.  I  hare  inserted  Sir^  tbe  most  innocent  one  tbM  occurred^ 
to  me. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     fl51 

Paul.  And  then,  with  what  speed 
She  orders  her  dtspatcheSi  not  one  daring 
To  iQti^rpose ;  the  emperor  himself. 
Without  reply,  putting  in  act  whatever 
She  pleased  to  impose'  upon  hinu 

Cle.  Yet  there  were  some. 
That,  in  their  sullen  looks,  rather  confessed 
A  forced  constraint  to  serve  her,  than  a  wilt 
To  be  at  her  devotion :  what  are  they  ? 

Paul.  Eunuch's  of  the  emperor's  chamber,  that 
.    repine 
The  globe  and  awful  sceptre  should  give  place 
Unto  the  distaff;  for,  as  such,  they  whisper 
A  woman's  government,  but  dare  not  yet 
Express  themselves. 

Cle.  From  whence  are  the  ambassadors 
To  whom  she  promised  audience  ? 

Paul.  They  are 
Employ'd  by  divers  princes,  who  desire 
Alliance  with  our  emperor,  whose  years  now, 
As  you  see,  write  him  man.    One  would  advance 
A  daughter  to  the  honour  of  his  bed ; 
A  second,  his  fair  sister:  to  instruct  you 
In  the  particulars  would  ask  longer  time 
Than  my  own  designs  give  way  to.    I  have  letters 
From  special  friends  of  mine,  that  to  my  care 
Commend  a  stranger  virgin,  whom  this  morning 
I  purpose  to  present  before  the  princess : 
If  you  please,  you  may  accompany  me. 

Cia,  I'll  wait  on  you.  [Exeunt; 

*  She  pleased  to  impose']  Isj  whidi  the  modern  editors  insert 
before  pleas^edy  was  admitted  without  authority^  and  indeed 
ir^thout  uecessitjt. 


S5SI     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST, 


SCENE  IL 
Another  Room  in  the  tame. 

Enter  the  Informer,  with  Officers  bringing  m  th€[ 
Projector,  the  Minion  of  the  Suburbs,  and  thti 
Master  of  the  Habit  and  Manners. 

Infor.  Why  should  you  droop,  or  hang  your 
working  heads  ? 
No  danger  is  meant  to  you ;  pray  bear  up ; 
For  aught  I  know,  you  are  cited  to  receive 
Preferment  due  to  your  merits* 

Fry.  Very  likely : 
In  all  the  projects  I  have  read  and  practised, 
I  never  found  one  man  compelled  to  come, 
Before  thje  seat  of  justice,  under  guard. 
To  receive  honour. 

I/if  or.  No  !  it  may  be,  you  are 
The  first  example.     Men  of  qualities, 
As  I  have  deliver'd  you  to  the  protectress, 
Who  knows  how  to  advance  tnem,  cannpt  con> 

ceive 
A  fitter  place  to  have  their  virtues  publish'd. 
Than  in  open  court.     Could  you  hope  that  tho 

princess, 
Knowing  your  precious  merits,  will  reward  them^ 
In  a  private  corner?  No  ;  you  know  not  yet 
How  you  may  be  exalted. 

Min.  To  the  gallows: 

In/'or.  Fie  ! 
Nor  yet  depress'd  to  the  gallies ;  in  your  names 
You  carry  »no  such  crimes  :  your  specious  titles 
Cannot  but  take  her  :-^Presidcnt  of  the  Pro* 
jectors ! 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     253 

What  a  noise  it  makes !  The  Master  of  the  Habit! 
How  proud  would  sonte  ope  country  be  that  I 

know, 
To  be  your  first  pupil !?  Minion  of  the  Suburbs, 
And  now  atid  then  admitted  to  the  court, 
And  honour'd  with  the  style  of  Squire  of  Dames  !^* 
What  hurt  is  in  it  ?  One  thing  I  must  tell  you. 
As  I  am  the  ^tate^scout,  yoii  may  think  me  an 

informer. 
Mast.  They  are  synonyma.* 


The  Master  of  the  Habit ! 


How  proud  would  some  one  coujitry  be  that  I  knoWf 
To 'he  your  first  fupil  []  ^'  Still  harping  upon  Etigland/'  which, 
at  the  time  these  scenes  are  supposed \o  haye  taken  place,  was 
'tmggliiig  with  a  few  ^^  naked  Picts'^  for  wohes'  skins ! 

♦  And  honoured  with  the  styles  of  Squire  of  Dames  !]  Thig 
teems  to  have  been  a  cant  term)  with  our  old  dramatists,  for  a 
pander,  in  allusion  probably  to  his  designation.  The  Squire  a^ 
Pames  is  a  personage  of  great  respectabilitj  in  the  Faerie  Queeney 
from  whence,  as  .!5(r*  Gilchrist  observes,  Massinger  deriyed  the 
appellation.  In  Book  III.  Canto  ¥ii.  stanza  53,  ^^  he  is  dis- 
patched by  his  mistress,  to  relieve  distressed  damsels  during  the 
space  of  a  twelvemonth.  This 'injunction  he  happily  performs, 
and  returps  with  tidre*  hundred  proofs  of  his  prowess  and 
success ;  his  capricious  fair  one  then  forbids  him  her  pretence' 
fintil  he  can  find  as  many  other  ladies, 

^^  The  which,  for  all  the^uit  he  could  propound, 

"Would  him  refuse  their  pledges  to  afford, 
5^  But  did  abide  for  ever  chaste  and  sound,'* 
*^  After  straying  thi'ee  years,  and  endeavouring  with  all  hit 
might  to  effect  the  purpose  of  his  mission,  he  acknowledges  io' 
Satyrane,  (miserabile  dictu  J)  that  he  had  found  but  three !''  The 
story,  as  Warton  has  observed,  is  copied  from  Ariosto's  Host*s 
Ttde,  c-  28. 

^  Mast.  They  are  synonyma.]  '  The  modem  editors  corrupt 
this  into  synonymous;  but  synonyma  was  the  word  in. use  in 
]VIassipger's  time. 
Thus  Jonson  :  -    * 

^^  Where  lately  harbour'd  mafay  a  famous  whore, 
^'  A  purging  bill,  now  fix'd  upon  the  door, 
*'  Tells  yon  it  is  a  hot-house :  so  it  may, 
'  ^^  And  still  be  a  whore-house ;— they're  synonyma*^ 

Eptg.  vu. 


fi54     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.  ^ 

^Infor*  Conceal  nothing  from  her 
Of  your  good  parts,  'twill  be  the  better  for  you  j 
Or  if  you  should,  it  matters  not ;  she  can  conjure,^ 
And  I  am  her  ubiquitary  spirit. 
Bound  to  obey  her  :r— you  nave  my  instructions ; 
Stand  by,  here*s  better  company. 

^ntcr  Faujlinus,  Ci^^Qn,  and  Ath£nais  with  a 

petition, 

Athen.  Can  I  hope,  sir, 
Oppressed  innocence  shall  find  protection 
And  justice  among  strangers,  when  my  brothers^ 
Srothers  of  one  womb,  by  one  sire  begotten, 
Trample  on  my  afflictions  ? 

Paul.  Forget  them, 
Remembering  those  may  help  you. 

Athen.  They  have  robb'd  me 
Of  all  means  to  prefer  my  just  complaint. 
With  any  promising  hope  to  gain  a  hearing, 
Much  less  redress ;  petitions  not  sweetened 
With  gold,  are  but  unsavory,  oft  refused; 
Or,  if  received,  are  pocketed,  not  readL 
A  suitor's  swelling  tears  by  the  glowing  beamsi 
Of  choleric  authority  are  dried  up 
Before  they  fall,  or,  if  seen,  never  pitied* 
What  will  become  of  a  forsaken  maid  ! 
My  flattering  hopes  are  too  weak  to  encountef 
With  my  strong  enemy,  despair,  and  'tis 
In  vain  to  oppose  her. 

Cle.  Cheer  her  up ;  she  faints,  sir, 

Paul.    ThiSi   argues  weakness;   though  your 
brothers  were 
Cruel  beyond  expression,  and  the  judges 
That  sentjenced  you,  corrupt,  you  shall  find  her^ 
One  of  your  own  fair  sex  to  do  you  right;; 
Who^e  beams  of  justice,  like  thf;  sun,  extend 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  E^VST.     255: 

Their  light  and  heat  to  strangers,  and  arc  not 
Municipal  or  confined. 

Athen.  Pray  you,  do  not  feed  mc 
With  airy  hopes ;  unless  you  can  assure  mo 
The  great  Pulcheria  will  descend  to  hear 
My  miserable  story,  it  were  better 
I  died  without  the  trouble. 

Paul.  She  is  bound  to  it 
By  the  surest  chain,  her  natural  inclination 
To  help  the  afflicted ;  nor  shall  long  delays, 
More  terrible  to  miserable  suitors 
Than  quick  denials,  grieve  you.  Dryyour  fair  eyes* 
This  room  will  instantly  be  sanctified 
With  her  bless'd  presence ;  to  her  ready  hand 
Present  your  grievances,  and  rest  assured 
You  shall  depart  contented. 

Athen.  You  breathe  in  me 
A  second  life. 

Infor.  Will  your  lordship  please  tQ  hea? 
Your  servant  a  few  words  ? 

PauU  Away,  you  rascal ! 
Did  I  ever  keep  such  servants  ? 

Infor.  If  your  honesty 
Would  give  you  leave,  it  would  be  for  your  profit. 

Paul.  To  make  use  of  an  informer !  tell  me,  in 
what 
Can  you  advantage  me  ? 

Infor.  In  the  first  tender 
Of  a  fresh  suit  never  begg'd  yet. 

PauL  What's  your  suit,  sir  ? 

Infor.  Tis  feasible ; — here  arc  three  arrant 
knaves 
Discovered  by  my  art. 

Paul.  And  thou  the  archknaye : 
'  The  great  devour  the  less. 

Infor.  And  with  good  reason ; 
I  must  eat  one  a  month,  I  cannot  live  else. 


1156     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

PauL  A  notable  cannibal !  but  should  I  hear 
thee, 
In  what  do  your  knaves  concern  me  ? 

Infor.  In  the  begging 
Of  their  estateSi^ 
^  JPaul.  Before  they  are  condemned  ? 

Infor.  Yes,  or  arraign 'd ;  your  lordship  may 
*speak  too  late  else/ 
They  are  your  own,  and  I  will  be  content 
With  the  fifth  part.of  a  share. 

Paul.  Hence,  rogue ! 

Infor.  Such  rogues 
In  tnis  kind  will  be  heard  and  cherished  toa. 
Fool  that  I  was,  to  offer  such  a  bargain 
To  a  spiced-conscience  chapman ! — but  I  care  not } 
What  he  disdains  to  taste^  ^others  will  swallow. 

Zoud  Music.  Fjiiicr  Theodosius,  Pulcheria^ 
Arcadia,  Flaccilla,  Patriarch,  Philanax^ 
TiMANTUs,  Chrysapius,  Gbatianus,  an4 
Attendants. 

Cle.  They  are  returned  from  the  temple. 

PauL  See,  she  appears ; 
What  think  you  now  ? 

Athen.  A  cunning  painter  thus, 
Her  veil  ta'en  off,  and  awful  sword  and  balance 
Laid  by,  would  picture  Justice. 

^  Yes,  or  arraigned;  your  lordship  may  speak  too  late  else.]  Thiy 
h  a  severe  sarcasm  on  the  zjiditj  of  Uie  courtiers  in  Mas- 
singer's  time;  unfortunately  too,  it  is  just.    The  estates  of 
many  condemned  persons  were  begged  with  scandalous  precipi* 
tation  bj  the  favourites  of  the  day ;  and,  what  is  worse,  were 
justly  suspected,  in  more  than  one  instance,  to  have  constituted 
the  principal  part  of  the  crime  for  which  the  possessors  suffered: 
''  Sir,  you  are  rich  ;  besides,  you  know  what  jon 
'*  Have  got  by  your  ward!s  death:  I  fear  you  will 
**  Be  begg'd  at  courtJ*  The  Wits. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     957 

PnL  When  you  please, 
You  may  intend  those  royal  exercises 
Suiting  your  birth  and  gi;eatness :  I  will  beaf 
The  burthen  of  your  cares,  and,  having  purged 
The  body  of  your  empire  of  ill  humours, 
Upon  my  knees  surrender  it. 

Chry.  Will  you  ever 
Be  awed  thus  like  a  boy  ? 

Grat.  And  kiss  the  rod 
Of  a  proud  mistress  ? 

Izm.  Be  what  you  were  born,  sir. 

Phil.  Obedience  and  majesty  never  lodged 
In  the  same  inn. 

Theod.  No  more ;  he  never  learn'd 
The  right  way  to  command,  that  stopp'd  his  eari 
To  wi^e  directions. 

Pul.  Read  o'er  the  papers 
I  left  upon  my  cabinet,  two  hours  hence 
I  will  examine  you. 

Flac.  We  spend  our  time  well ! 
Nothing  but  praying  and  poring  on  a  book* 
It  ill  agrees  with  my  constitution,  sister. 

Arcad.  Would  I  had  been  born  some  masquing- 
lady's  woman. 
Only  to  see  strange  sights,  rather  than  live  thus  1 

Flac,  We  are  gone,  forsooth ;  there  is  no  re- 
medy, sistei*.  [Exeunt  Arcadia  and  Flaccilla. 

Grat.  What  hath  his  eye  found  out  ? 

Tim.  Tis  fix'd  upon 
That  stranger  ladyf 

Chry.  I  am  glad  yet,  that 
He  dares  look  on  a  woman. 

[All  this  time  the  Informer  is  kneeling  to  Put- 
cheria,  afid  delivering  papers^ 

Tfieo.  Philanax, 
What  is  that  comely  stranger  ? 

Phil,  A  petitioner* 


168     THE  EMPEROR  Ol^  THE  EAST. 

Chry.  Will  you  hear  iier  case,  and  dispatch  hct 
in  your  chamber? 
I'll  undertake  to  bring  hen 

Theo.  Bring  me  to 
Some  place  where  I  may  look  on  her  demeanor: 
^is  a  lovely  creature  I 

Chry.  There's  some  hope  in  this  yet. 

[Flourish.  Esettnt  Theodosius^  Patrioi^ck^ 
Pkilanasy  Timantus,  Chrj/sapius,  ana 
Gratianus. 

Pul.  No :  you  have  done  your  parts. 

Paul.  Now  opportunity  courts  you^ 
t^reJFei'  your  suit. 

Atheff.  [Kneeling.']  As  low  as  misery 
Can  fall,  for  proof  of  my  humility, 
A  poor  distressed  virgin  bows  her  head^ 
And  lays  hold  on  your  goodness,  the  last  altair 
Calamity  can  fly  to  for  protection.  ' 

Great  minds  erect  their  never-falling  trophies^ 
On  the  firm  base  of  mercy ;  but  to  triumph 
Over  a  suppliant,  by  proud  fortune  captived^ 
Argues  a  bastard  conquest : — 'tis  to  you 
I  speak,  to  you,  the  fair  and  just  Pulcheriaj 
The  Wonder  of  the  age,  your  sex's  honour ; 
And  as  such,  deign  to  hear  me.    As  you  have 
A  soul  moulded  from  heaven,  and  do  desire 
To  have  it  made  a  star  there,  make  the  meau^ 
Of  your  ascent  to  that  celestial  height 
Virtue,  wing'd  with  braVe  action :  they  draw  nealr 
The  nature  and  the  essence  of  the  gods^ 
Who  imitate  their  goodness. 

Pul.  If  you  were 
A  subject  of  the  empire,  which  your  habit 
In  every  part  denies—^ 

7  Great  minds  erect  their  neyer-falling  trophies]  Never^atling 
ig  tbe  readiug  of  the  old.  copies^  and  should  not  be  chaDg«4« 
Coxeter  and  Mr.  M«  Mason  exhibit  never-failing.    ' 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     259 

Athen.  O,  fly  not  to 
Such  an  evasion !  whate'er  I  am^ 
Being  awooian,  in  humanity 
You  are  bound  to  right  me*    Though,  the  difFc* 

rence 
Of  my  religion  may  seem  to  exclude  me 
From  your  defence^  which  you  would  have  con* 

fined  ; 
The  moral  virtue,  which  is  general, 
Must  know  no  limits.     By  these  blessed  ittty 
That  pace  the  paths  of  equity,  and  tread  boldly 
On  the  stiff  neck  of  tyrannous  oppression, 
By  these  tears  by  which  I  bathe  them,  I  conjure 

you 
With  pity  to  look  on  me  I 

PuL  Pray  you,  rise ;  . 
And,  as  you  rise,  receive  this  comfort  from  me* 
Beauty,  set  oflF  with  such  sweet  language,  never 
Can  want  an  advocate ;  and  you  must  bring 
More  than  a  guilty  cause  if  you  prevail  not. 
Somebusiness,longsince  thought  upon,dispatch^d^ 
You  shall  have  hearing,  and,  as  far  as  justice 
Will  warrant  me,  my  best  aids. 

Athen.  I  do  desire 
No. stronger  guard;  my  equity  needs  no  favour^ 

[fValks  asidu 

Put.  Are  these  the  men  ? 

Proj.  We  were,  an't  like  your  highness^ 
The  men,  the  men  of  eminence  and  mark, 
And  may  continue  so,  if  it  please  your  gract# 

Mast.  This  speech  was  well  projected^ 

PuL  Does  your  conscience, 
i  will  begin  with  you,  whisper  unto  you 
Wliat  here  you  stand  accused  of?  Are  you  uame4 
The  President  of  Projectors  ? 

Infor.  Justify  it,  man, 

tCoA  tell,  her  in  what  thou'rt  useful; 


860     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

^^  i 

Proj.  That  is  apparent ; 
And  if  you  please,  ask  some  about  the  court> 
And  they  will  tell  you,  to  my  rare  inventions 
They  owe  their  bravery,  perhaps  means  to  put*' 

chase, 
And  cannot  live  without  me.     I,  a^as  ! 
Lend  out  my  labouring  brains  to  use,  and  some* 

'  times 
For  a  drachma  in  the  pound, — the  more  the  pity 
I  am  all  patience,  and  endure  the  curses 
Of  many,  for  the  profit  of  one  patron. 

Pul.  I  do  conceive  the  rest.    What  is  the 
second  ? 

Infor.  The  Minion  of  the  Suburbs*  . 

PuL  What  hath  he 
To  do  in  Constantinople  ? 

Min.  I  steal  in  now  and  then, 
As  I  am  thought  useful;  marry,  there  I  am  called 
The  Squire  of  Dames,  or  Servant  of  the  Sex, 
And  by  the  allowance  of  some  sportful  ladies^ 
Honoured  with  that  title. 

Pul.  Spare  your  character, 
You  are  here  deciphered:  stand  by  with  your 

compeer. 
What  is  the'  third  ?  a  creature  I  ne'er  heard  of  t 
The  Master  of  the  Manners  and  the  Habit ! 
You  have  a  double  office. 

Mast.  In  my  actions 
I  make  both  good ;  for  by  my  theorems, 
Which  your  polite  and  terser  gallants  practise, 
I  re-refine  the  court,*  and  civilize 
Their  barbarous  natures.     I  have  in  a  tablci 
With  curious  punctuality  set  down, 


'  J  re-refine  the  cvurt^  So  the  old  copy:  the  modern  editori 
read,  /  refine  the  court ^  which  destroys  at  once  the  humour  aod 
the  metre. 


THE  EMtEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     261 

To  a  hair's  breadth,  how  low  a  new-stamp*cl  cour^ 

tier 
May  vail^  to  a  country  gentleman^  and  by 
Gradation,  to  his  nverchant^  mercer,  draper, 
His  Iinen«man,  and  tailor. 
Pul.  Pray  you,  discover 
This  hidden  mystery. 

Mast  If  the  foresaid  courtier 
(As  it  may  chance  sometimes)  find  not  his  name 
Writ  in  the  citizens'  book^,  with  a  state  hum 
He  may  salute  them  after  diree  days  waiting ; 
But,  if  be  owe  them  money,  that  he  may 
Preserve  his  credit,  let  him  in  policy  never 
Appoint  a  day  of  payment,  so  they  may  hope 

still : 
But,  if  he  be  to  t^ke  up  more,  his  pae^ 
May  attend  them  at  the  gate,  and  usher  them 
Into  his  cellar,  and  when  they  are  warm'd  with 

wine,  ^ 

Conduct  them  to  his  bedchamber;  and  though 

then 
He  be  under  hie  barber's  hands,  as  soon  as  seen^ 
He  must  start  up  to  embrace  themy  vail  thus 

low; 
Nay,  though  he  call  them  cousins,  'tis  the  better, 
His  dignity  no  way  wrong'd  in't. 

PauL  Here's  a  nne  knave ! 

Pul.  Does  this  rule  bold  without  exception, 
sirrah. 
For  courtiers  in  general  ? 

Mait.  No,  dear  madam, 
For  one  of  tiie  last  edition ;  and  for  him 
I  have  composed  a  dictionary,  in  which 


kcm  law  a  nea^tamfd  courtkr 


Hf^  ¥ail  i0a  cotmtry  geniUmany']  i.  e.  bow ;  the  wofd  occuti 
again,  ii|  tbe  same  sense,  a  few  lines  below. 
VOL.  III,.  *  T 


S62     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

He  is  instructed,  how,  when,  and  to  whom, 

To  be  proud  or  humble ;  at  what  times  of  the 

year 
He  may  do  a  good  deed  for  itself,  and  that  is 
Writ  in  dominical  letters ;  all  days  else 
Are  his  own,  and  of  those  days  the  several  hours 
Mark'd  out,  and  to  what  use. 

PuL  Shew  us  your  method ; 
I  am  strangely  taken  with  it. 

Mast.  Twill  deserve 
A  pension)  I  hope.     First,  a  strong  cullis 
In  his  bed,  to  heighten  appetite ;  shuttle-cock, 
To  keep  him  in  breath  when  he  rises:  tennis  courts 
Are  chargeable,  and  the  riding  of  great  horses 
Too  boisterous  for  my* young  courtier;  let  the 

old  ones 
I  think  not  of,  use  it:  next,  his  meditation 
How  to  court  his  mistress,  and  that  he  may  seem 

witty, 
Let  him  be  furnished  with  confederate  jests 
Between  him  and  his  friend,  that,  on  occasion, 
They  may  vent  them  mutually:  what  his  pace 

and  garb 
Must  be  in  the  presence^  then  the  length  of  his 

sword, 
The  fashion  of  the  hilt — ^what  the  blade  is 
It  matters  not,  'twere  barbarism  to  use  it 
Unless  to  shew  his  strength  upon  an  andiron  j 
So,  the  sooner  broke  the  better.   ^ 

PuL  How  I  abuse 
This  precious  time !  Projector,  1  treat  first 
Of  you  and  your  disciples ;  you  roar  out> 
All  is  the  king's,  his  will  above  his  laws ; 
And  that  fit  tributes  are  too  gentle  yokes 
For  his  poor  subjects :  whispering  in  his  ear, 
If  he  would  have  their  fear,  no  man  should  dare 
To  bring  a  salad  from  his  country  garden,' 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     26s 

Without  the  paying  gabel  ;*  kill  a  hen, 
Without  excise:  and  that  if  he  desire 
To  have  his  children  or  his  servants  wear 
Their  heads  upon  their  shoulders,  yoa  affirm 
In  policy  'tis  fit  the  owner  should 
Pay  for  them  by  the  poll ;  or,  if  the  prince  want 
A  present  sum,  he  may  command  a  city 
Impossibilities,  and  for  non-jperformance, 
Compel  it  to  submit  to  any  fine 
His  officers  shall  impose.     Is  this  the  way 
To  make  our  empetar  happy  ?  can  the  groans 
Of  his  subjects  yield  him   music  ?    must  his 

-  threshokls 
Be  washed  with 'widows  and  wrong'd  orphans^ 

tears. 
Or  his  power  grow  contemptible  ? 

,Proj.  I  begin 
To  feel  myself  a  rogue  again. 

Pul.  But  you  are 
The  squire  of  danves,  devoted  to  tbe  service 
Of  gamesome  ladies,  the  hidden  mystery 
Disco ver'd,  their  close  bawd,  thy  slavish  breath 
Fanning  the  fires  of  lust ;  the  go-between 
This  female  and  that  wanton  sir;  your  art 
Can  blind  a  jealous  husband,  and,  disguised 
Like  a  milliner  or  shoemaker,  convey 
A  letter  in  a  pantofle  or  glove. 
Without  suspicion,  ntiy,  at  his  tabic, 
In  a  case  of  picktooths ;  you  instruct  them  liow 


«i«* 


no  man  should  dart 


To  Iring  a  salad  from  his  country  garden^ 
Without  the  paying  gabel ;  &c.]  This  spirit  of  imposkibn  if 
veil  touched  on  by  Donne : 

«  .  shortly,  boys  shall  not  pTay 

^  At  spanoconnter,  or  blow. point,  but  shall  pay 
**  ToU  to  some  courtier."      .  Sat.  iv. 

*T3 


264     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

To  parley  with  their  eyes,  and  make  the  teiDplc 
A  mart  of  looseness : — to  discover  all 
Your  subtile  brokages,  were  to  teach  in  public 
Those  private  practices  vfhich  are,  in  justice, 
Severely  to  be  punish*d. 

Min.  I  am  cast : 
A  jury  of  my  patronesses  cannot  quit  me. 
Ful.  You  are  master  of  the  manners  and  the 
habit ; 
Rather  the  scorn  of  such  as  would  live  men, 
And  not,  like  apes,  with  serVile  imitation 
Study  prodigious  fhsfaions.    You  keep 
Intelligence  abroad,  that  may  instruct 
Our  giddly  youth  at  home  what  newfound  fashion 
Is  now  in  use,  swearing  he's  most  complete 
That  first  turns  monster*     Know,  villains,  I  can 

thrust 
This  arm  into,  your  hearts,  strip  off  the  flesh 
That  covers  your  deformities,  and  shew  you 
In  your  own  nakedness.    Now,  though,  the  law 
Call  not  your  follies  death,  you  are  ror  ever 
Banish'd  my  brother's  court. — ^Away  with  them ; 
I  will  hear  no  reply. 
[Ex^etint  Informer y  and  Officers  mth  the  Projector, 
Minion  of  the  Suburbs^  and  Master  of  the 
Habit  and  Manners.   Athenais  cwnes  forward. 

jEJw^eraJwe,THE0DOSIUS,PHILANAX,TlMAN^TUS, 

Chrysapius,  and  Gratianus. 

Paul.  What  think  you  now? 

Cle.  That  I  am  in  a  dream ;  or  that  I  see 
A^second  Pallas. 

PuL  These  removed,  to  you 
I  clear  my  brow.  Speak  without  fear,  sweet  maid. 
Since,  with  a  mild  aspect,  and  ready  ear, 
I  sit  prepared  to  hear  you. 


't 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     26.5 

^Athen.  Know,  great  princess,* 
My  fathi^r,  though  a  pagan,  was  admired 
For  his  deep  search  into  those  hidden  studies, 
Whose  knowledge  is  denied  to  comnaon  men: 
The  motion,  with  the  divers  operations 
Of  the*simerior  bodies,  by  his  long 
And  careful  observation  were  made 
Familiar  to  him ;  all  the  secret  virtues 
Of  plants  and  ^simples,  and  in  wliat  degree 
They  were  useful  to  mankind,he  could  discourse  of: 
In  a  woxd,  conceive  him  as  a  prophet  honoured 
In  his  own  country.     But  being  born  a  man, 
It  lay  not  in  him  to  defer  the  hour 
Of  his  approaching  death,  though  long  foretold :. 
In  this  so  fatal  hour  he  call'd  before"  bim 

*  The  Editor  has  remarked  generally,  that  ^*  the  plot  of  this 
tragi-comedy  is  taken  from  thehtstorj  of  Theodosius  the  Younger, 
as  dBliTexed  by  the  %zantiae  histosiaas;'^  »nd  Dr.  Irehmd  has 
bestowed  considerable  research  in  endearovring  to  trace  Mas- 
singer's  obligations  to  those  writers.  I  deceive  myself,  or  the 
latter  is  not  quite  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  enquiries.  Of 
the  learning  ofMassinger  there  can  be  no  doubt;  but  the  truth 
I  belieTe  to  ba,  tha£  the  dramatic  poeta  of  this  period  had  few 
of^rtnpities  and  little,  leisure  for  deep  research^  and  having 
found  some  historical  fact  or  popular  tale  which  promised  dra- 
matic effect,  they  contented  themselves  with  accepting  it  upon 
the  easiest  terms,  assuming  the  liberty  of  adopting,  altering,  and 
rejecting  whatever  seemed  expedient.  In  a  work  which  at* 
tracted  the  noticp  of  several  dnimatic  poets.  (^Burton*4  Anatomy 
of  Melancholy^  foL  583,)  Maasiitger  might  have  found  that 
^^  Leontius,  a  philosopher  of  Athens,  bad  a  faure  daughter, 
called  AthenaiSy  multo  corporis  lepore  ac  Ventre^  (saith  mine 
author,  Lipsius,)  of  a  comely  carriage ;  be  gave  her  no  portion 
but  her  bringing  up,  ocadto  forme  prctsagiOi  out  of  sope  secret 
foreknowledge  of  her  fortune,  bestowing  that  little  which  he 
had  amongst  his  other  children.  Thus  qualifiedi  she  was  pre- 
ferred by  some  friends  to  Constantinople,  to  serve  Pulcheria  the 
Emperor's  sister,  of  whom  she  was  baptized,  and  called  Eudocia. 
Theodosius  the  Emperor  in  short  space  took  notice  of  her  ex- 
cellent beauty  and  good  parts,  and  a  little  after,  upon  his  sister  4 
sole  oommendatioD;  mude  her  his  wife.*'    Gilchrist. 


S65     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

'  His  two  sons  and  myself,  the  dearest  pledges 
Lent  him  by  nature,  and  with  his  right  hand 
Blessing  our  several  heads,  he  thus  began. 

Chry.  Mark  his  attention. 

PhiL  Give  me  leave  to  mark  too. 

Athen.  If  I  could  leave  my  understanding  to  you. 
It  were  superfluous  to  make  division 
Of  whatsoever  else  I  can  bequeath  you  : 
iiutf  to  avoid  contention^  I  allot 
An  equal  portion  of  my  possessions 
To  youj  my  sons ;  but  unto  thee^  my  daughtcTy 
My  joy,  my  darling,  (pardjjn  me,  though  I 
Repeat  his  words,)  if  my  prophetic  soul, 
Ready  to  take  herjlight,  can  truly  guess  at 
Thy  future  fate  J  I  leave  the^  strange  assurance 
Of  the  greatness  thou  art  born  to,  unto  which       \ 
Thy  brothers  shall  be  proud  to  pay  their  service: — 

FauL  And  all  men  else,  that  honour  beauty. 

Theo.  Umph ! 

Athen.  Yet,  to  prepare  thee  for  that  certain for^- 
tune, 
And  that  I  may  from  present  wants  defend  thee, 
I  leave  ten  thousand  crowns : — which  said,  being^ 

call'd 
To  the  fellowship  of  our  deities,  he  expired, 
And  with  him  all  remembrance  of  the  charge 
Concerning  me,  left  by  him  to  my  brothers. 

PuL  Did  they  detain  your  legacy  ? 

Athen.  And  still  do. 
His  ashes  were  scarce  quiet  in  his  urn, 
When,  in  derision  of  my  future  greatness, 
They  thr^st  me  out  of  doors,  denying  me* 
One  short  nigrht's  harbour. 


*  — : I  leave  the  strange  assurance']  So  the 

old  copy.  The  modern  editors  read— / /care  thee  strange  a$m 
surance :  bat  the  whole  of  this  beautiful  scene  is  vilely  disgraced 
hy  numerous  errors  and  omissions  in  both  the  last  editions. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     267 

PuL  Weep  not. 

A  then.  I  desire. 
By  your  persuasion,  or  commanding  power, 
The  restitution  of  mine  own ;  or  that, 
To  keep  my  frailty  from  temptation, 
In  your  compassion  of  me,  you  would  please^ 
L  as  a  handmaid,  may  be  entertain'd 
To  do  the  meanest  omces  to  all  such 
As  are  honoured  in  your  service. 

PuL  Thou  art  welcome. 
What  is  thy  name  ? 

Athen.  The  forlorn  Athenais. 

PuL  The  sweetness  of  thy  innocence  strangely 
takes  me.        \Take9  her  up,  and  kiitse^  her. 
Forget  thy  brothers'  wrongs ;  for  I  will  be 
In  my  care  a  mother,  in  my  love  a  sister  to  thee; 
And,  were  it  possible  thou  couldst  be  won 
To  be  of  our  belief 

PauL  May  it  please  your  excellence, 
That  is  au  easy  task ;  I,  though  no  scholar, 
Dare  undertake  it ;  clear  truth  cannot  want 
Rhetorical  persuasions. 

PuL  Tis  a  work. 
My  lord,  will  well  become  you.— Break  up  the 

court : 
May  your  endeavours  prosper ! 

PauL  Come,  my  fair  one ; 
I  hope,  my  convert. 
^    Athen.  Never :  I  will  die 
As  I  was  born. 

PauL  Better  you  ne'er  had  been.  '     [Exeunt. 

PhiL  What  does  your  majesty  think  of? ^ 

the  maid's  gone. 

Tkeo.  She's  wondrous  fair,  and  in  her  speech 
appea^'d 
Pieces  of  scholarship. 

Chry,  Make  use  of  her  learning 


268    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST, 

And  beauty  together;  on  my  life  she  will  be 

proud 
To  be  so  converted. 

Theo.  From  foul  lust  heaven  guard  me ! 


ACT  II.    SCENE  I, 

A  Ro&m  in  the  Palace. 

§ 

Enter  Fhilanax^  Timantus,  ChbtsapiuSi  an^ 

Gratianus. 

FhiL  We  only  talk,  when  we  should  do# 

T%m.  I'll  second  you  ; 
Begin,  and  wheixyou  please. 

Grat.  Be  constant  in  it. 

Chry.  That  resolution  which  grows  cold  to  day^ 
Will  freeze  to  morrow. 

Grat.  'Slight !  I  think  she'll  keep  him 
Her  ward  for  ever,  to  herself  engrossing 
The  disposition  of  all  the  favours 
And  bounties  of  the  empire. 

Chry.  We,  that,  by 
The  nearness  of  our  service  to  his  person^ 
Should  raise  this  man,  or  pull  down  that,  without 
Her  license  hardly  dare  prefer  a  suit, 
Or  if  we  do,  'tis  cross'd. 

Fhih  You  are  troubled  for 
Your  proper  ends ;  my  aims  are  high  and  honest. 
The  wrong  that's  done  to  majesty  I  rtpine  ftt : 
I  love  the  emperor,  and  'tis  my  ambition 
To  have  him  know  himself,  and  to  that  purpose 
I'll  run  the  hazard  of  a  check* 


THE  EMPEROR  QF  THE  EAST.     i6d 

* 

Orat.  Ai\d  I 
The  loss  of  my  place. 

Jtm.  I  will  not  come  behind^ 
Fall  what  can  fall. 

Chry.  Let  us  put  on  sad  aspecti^. 
To  draw  him  on;  charge  homej  we'll  fetch  you  off^ 
Or  lie  dead  by  you« 

•        • 
Enter  Theoposius, 

Theo.  How's  this  ?  clouds  in  the  chamber. 
And  the  air  clear  abroad  ! 

Phil.  When  you,  our  sun, 
Obscure  ydur  glorious  beams,  poor  we,  that  borrow 
Our  little  light  from  you,  cannot  but  suffer 
A  general  eclipse. 

Itm.  Great  sir, 'tis  triie; 
For,  till  you  please  to  kfiow  and  be  yourself, 
And  freely  dare  dispose  of  wliat's  your  own, 
Without  a  warrant,  we  are  falling  meteors, 
And  not  fix'd  stars. 

Chry.  The  pal  effaced  moon,  that  should 
Govern  the  night;  usurps  the  rule  of  dayi 
And  still  is  at  the  full  in  spite  of  x&aturei 
And  will  not  know  a  change. 

Theo.  Sptak  you  in  riddles  ? 
I  am  no  (Edipus,  but  your  emperor. 
And  as  such  wbuld  be  instructed. 

Phil.  Your  command 
Shall  be  obey'd :  till  now,  I  never  heard  you 
Speak  like  yourself;   and  may  that  Power,  by 

which 
You  are  so,  strike  me  dead,  if  what  I  shall 
Deliver  as  a  faithful  subject  to  you, 
Hath  root  or  growth  from  malice,  or  base  envy 
Of  your  sister's  greatness  !  I  could  honour  in  upc 


»ro  .  THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

A  power  subordinate  to  yours ;  but  uot, 
As  'tis,  predominant. 

Tim.  Is  it  fit  that  she, 
In  her  birth  your  vassal,  should  command  the 

knees 
Of  such  as  should  not  bow  but  to  yourself? 

Grat.  She  with  security  walks  upon  the  heada 
Of  the  nobility ;  the  multitude, 
As  to  a  deity,  offering  sacrifice 
For  her  grace  and  favour. 

Ckry^  Her  proud  feet  even  wearied 
With  the  kisses  of  petitioners. 

Grat.  While  you. 
To  whom  alone  such  reverence  is  proper. 
Pass  unregarded  by  hef. 

Tim.  You  have  not  yet. 
Been  master  of  one  hour  of  your  whole  life. 

Chry.  Your  will  and  faculties  kept  in  more  awe 
Than  she  can  do  her  own. 
.  Phil  And  as  a  bondman, 
(O  let  my  2eal  find  grace,  and  pardon  from  yoa,^ 
That  I  descend  so  low,)  you  are  designed 
To  this  or  that  employment,  suiting  well 
A  private  man,  I  grant,  but  not  a  princew. 
To  be  a  perfect  horseman,  or  to  know- 
The  words  of  the  chase,  or  a  fair  man  of  Ktmsy 
Or  to  be  able  to  pierce  to  the'deptli, 
Or  write  a  comment  on  the  obscurest  poets, 
I  grant  are  ornaments;  but  your  main  scope 
Should  be  to  govern  men,  to  guard  your  owih 
If  not  enlarge  your  empire. 

Chry.  You  are  built  up 
By  the  curious  hand  of  nature,  to  revive 
The  ihemory  of  Alexander,  or  by 
A  prosperous  success  in  your  brave  actioDS^^ 
To  rival  Casar. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     271 

« 

Tim.  Rouse  yourself,  and  let  not 
Your  pleasures  be  a  copy  of  her  will. 

PhiL  Your  pupilage  is  past,  and  manly  actions 
Are  now  expected  from  you. 

Grat.  Do  not  lose 
Your  subjects'  hearts. 

Iim.  What  is't  to  have  the  means 
To  be  magnificent,  and  not  exercise 
The  boundless  virtue  ? 

Grat.  You  confine  yourself 
To  that  which  strict  philosophy  allows  of, 
As  if  you  were  a  private  man,  ^ 

Tim.  No  pomp 
Or  glorious  shows  of  royalty  rendering^it 
Both  loved  and  terrible. 

Grat.  'Slight ! .  you  live,  as  it 
Begets  some  doubt,  whether  you  have, -or  not. 
The  abilities  of  a  man. 

CAry.  The  firmament 
Hath  not  more  stars  than  there  are  several  beauties 
Ambitious,  at  the  heigh{,  to  impart  their  dear 
And  sweetest  favours  to  you. 

Grat.  Yet  you  have  not  '  ^ 

Made  choice  of  one,  of  all  the  sex,  to  aerve 

you, 

In  a  physical  way  of  courtship.  ^ 

•   Theo.  But  that  I  would  not 
Begin  the  expression  of  my  being  a  inan. 
In  blood,  or  stain  the  first  white  robe  I  weTir 
Of  absolute  power,  with  a  servile  imitation 
Of  any  tyrannous' habit,  my  just  anger 
Prompts  me  to  make  you,  in  your  sufferings)  feel, 
And  not  in  words  to  instruct  you,  that  the  license 
Of  the  loose  and  saucy  language  you  now  prac* 

tised  X 

Hath  forfeited  your  heads. 
Gm^.* How's  this! 


273     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Phil.  I  know  not 
What  the  play  may  prove,  but  I  assure  you  that 
I  do  not  Irke  the  prologue. 

Theo.  O  the  miserable 
Condition  of  a  prince  ;  who,  though  he  vary 
More  shapes  than  Proteus,  in  his  mind  and  man- 
ners, 
He  cannot  win  an  universal  suffrage 
From  the  many-headed  monster,  multitude  J 
Like  ^sop's  foolish  frogs,  they  trample  on  him 
As  a  senseless  block,  if  nis  government  be  easy ; 
And,  if  hej>rove  a:  stork,  they  croak  and  rail 
Against  him  as  a  tyrant. — I  will  put  off 
That  majesty,  of  which  you  think  I  have  . 
Nor  use  nor  feeling ;  and  in  arguing  with  you. 
Convince  you  with  strong  proofs  of  common 

reason, 
And  not  with  absolute  power,  against  whichj^ 

wretches. 
You  are  not  to  dispute.    Dare  you,  that  are 
My  creatures,  by  my  prodigal  favQurs  fashioned* 
Presuming  on  the  nearness  of  your  s^ervice. 
Set  off  with  my  familiar  acceptance, 
CoiQbdemB  my  obscKiuiousyess  to  the  wise  dir^c^ 

tions 
Of  an  incomparable  sister^  wbpm  all  parts 
Of  our  worm,  that  are  made  happy  in  the  know* 

ledge 
Of  her  perfections^  with  wonder  gaze  on  ? 
And  yet  you,  that  were  only  born  to  eat 
The  blessings  of  our  mother  earth,  that  are 
Distant  but  one  degree  from  beasts,  (since  slaves 
Can  claiYn  no  larger  privilege,)  that  knQW 
No  further  than  your  sensual  appetites. 
Or  wanton  lusts,  have  taught  you,  undertake 
To  give  your  sovereign  laws  to  follpYir  that         , 
Your  ignorance  marks  out  tQ  him  !       [fV^lks  by. 


tHE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     373 

Grat.  How  were  we 
Abused  in  our  opinion  of  his  temper  ! 

Phil.  We  had  forgot  'tis  found  in  holy  writi 
That  kings'  hearts  are  inscrutable.  * 

Tim.  I  ne'er  read  it ; 
My  study  lies  not  that  way. 

Phil.  By  his  looks, 
The  tempest  still  increases. 

Theo.  Am  I  grown 
So  stupid,  in  your  Judgments,  that  you  dare. 
With  sucli  security,  offer  violence 
To  sacred  majesty  ?  will  you  not  know 
The  lion  is  a  lion,  though  he  shew  not 
His  rending  paws,  or  fill  the  affrighted  air 
With  the  thunder  of  his  roarii^gs  ?—— You  bless'd 

saints, 
How  am  I  trenched  on  !  Is  that  temperance 
So  famous  in  your  cited  Alexander, 
Or  iRoman  Scipio,  a  crime  in  me  ? 
Cannot  I  be  an  emperor,  unless 
Yourwives  and  daughters  bow  to  my  proud  lusts  ? 
And,  'causfe  I  ravish  not  their iisiitest  buildings 
And  fruitful  vineyards,  or  what  is  dearest^ 
From  such  as  are  my  vassals,  must  you  conclude 
I  do  not  know  the  awful  power  and  strength 
Of  my  prerogative  ?  Am  I  close-handed, 
Because  I  scatter  not  among  you  that 
I  must  not  call  mine  own  ?   know,  you  court- 

leeches, 
A  prince  is  never  so  magnificent' 
As  when  he's  sparing  to  enrich  a  few 
With  the  injunes  of  many.    Could  your  hopes 


• —  kncnoy  you  caurtJeeeh^f 


A  prince  is  ntocr  $a  mstgnific^Tit 

At  when  ke^s  sparing  to  enrich  kc]  Tirere  is  a  peculiarity  in 
the  use  of  this  word,  wMch  tcaiinot  htnre  escaped  the  reader't 
notice,    b  MwiBger  it  cooitaotly  |t%iids  for  munifiecnty  of 


274     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

So  grossly  flatter  you,  as  to  believe 

I  was  born  and  trained  up  as  an  emperor,  only 

In  my  indulgence  to  give  sanctuary, 

In  tbeir  unjust  proceedings,  to  the  rapine 

And  avarice  of  my  grooms  ? 

Phil.  In  the  true  mirror 
Of  your  perfections^  at  length  we  see    ' 
Our  own  deformities! 

7tm.  And  not  once  daring 
To  look  upon  that  majesty  we  now  slighted- 


Chry,  With  our  faces  thus  glued  to  the  earth, 
we  beg 
Your  gracious  pardon. 

Grat.  Offering  our  necks 
To  be  trod  on,  as  a  punishment  for  our  late 
Presumption,  and  a  willing  testimony 
Of  our  subjection. 

Theo.  Deserve  our  metcy 
In  your  better  life  hereafter ;  you  shall  find, 
Though,  in  my  father's  life,'  I  held  it  madness  . 

which  BCTeral  instances  hare  alreadj  occarred:  thus,  in  iht 

Duke  of  Milan: 

<<  Yet,  not  to  take 

^^  From  others  to  glTO  only  to  myself, 

**  I  will  not  hinder  your  magnificence 

«  To  my  commanders.''    Act  III.  sc.  L  ' 

Again,  in  the  Renegado : 

^^  How,  like  a  royal  merchant,  to  return 
'*  Your  great  magnificence^'^    Act  IL  sc.  ir. 

Again,  in  the  Parliament  of  Love^  Dinant,  upon  NoralPa  giving 
him  Jiis  purse,  exclaims, 

**  You  are  too  magnificent^^'    Act  IV.  sc.  1, 

And  in  several  other  places. 

^  Thoughy  in  my  father's  life,  I  held  it  madnese 

To  usurp  his  power  ^'l    We  must  not  look  for  any  Tcry  rigid 

adherence  to  dates  in  these  historical  dramas ;  a  few  prominent 

facts  were  generally  seized  on ;  and  if  these  were  distribuied 

among  the  real  actors^  it  was  all  the  poet  aiQiedat,^nd.all.tl)a< 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     275 

To  usurp  his  power,  and  in  tny  youth  disdain'd  not 
To  learn  from  the  instructions  of  my  sister, 
I'll  make  it  good  to  all  the  world  I  am 
An  emperor;  and  even  this  instant  grasp 
The  sceptre,  my  rich  stock  of  majesty 
Entire,  no  scruple  wasted. 

PhiL  If  these  tears 
I  drop  procejed  not  from  my  joy  to  hear  this, 
May  my  eyeballs  follow  them  ! 

Hm.  I  will  shew  myself, 
By  your  sudden  metamorphosis,  transformed 
From  what  I  was. 

Grat.  And  ne'er  presume  to  ask' 
What  fits  not  you  to  give. 

Theo.  Move  in  that  sphere. 
And  my  light  with  full  beams  shall  shine  upon  you. 
Forbear  this  slavish  courtship,  'tis  to  me 
In  a  kind  idolatfous. 

PkiL  Your  gracious  sister. 

£w/crPuLCHERiA,  <iwrf  Servant.* 

FuL  Has  he  converted  her  ? 

Sera.  And,  as  such,  will 
Present  her,  when  you  please. 

PuL  I  am  glad  of  it. 
Command  my  dresser  to  adorn  her  with 
The  robes  that  I  gave  order  for. 

Ms  audience  expected.  At  th»  death  of  Arcadias,  Thjeodostns 
•was  a  child  of  seven  years  old,  and  was  more  likely  to  hava 
passed  his  time  in  youthful  games  with  the  women,  than  to  hav» 
thought  of  dethroning  his  father.  At  the  period  of  this  scene, 
he  was  in  his  twentieth  year.    Pulcheria  was  two  or  three  years 

older. 

^  Emier  Pulchbaia,  and  Serrant.]  To  the  speeches  of  th« 
latter,  Mar.  is  prefixed  instead  of  Serv,  and  the  going  out  is, 
Exit  Mart,  (probably  Martin.)  There  is  no  name  of  this  kind 
among  the  dramatis  persons:  perhaps  it  was  that  of  the  pes* 
former.   See^  koweieri  the  last  page  of  thia  play. 


876     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

s 

Serv.  I  shall. 

Pul.  And  let  those  precious  jewels  I  took  last 
Out  of  my  cabinet,  if  t  be  pdssible, 
Give  lustre  to  her  beauties ;  and^  that  done. 
Command  her  to  be  near  us^ 

Serv.  *Tis  a  province 
I  willingly  embrace.  [Ejcit 

Put.  O  my  dear  sir, 
You -have  forgot  your  morning  task,  and  there- 
fore, 
With  a  mother's  love,  I  come  to  reprehend  you ; 
But  it  shall  be  gently. 

Theo.  Twill  become  you,  though 
You  said,  with  reverend  duty.    Know  hereafter, 
If  my  mother  lived  in  you,  howe'er  her  son, 
Like  you  she  we're  my  subject. 

Pul.  How! 

TJieo.  Put  off 
Amazement ;  you  will  find  it.    Yet  Til  hear  you 
At  distance,  as  a  sister,  but  no  longer 
As  a  governess,  I  assure  you. 

Grat.  This  is  put  home. 

Iim.  Beyond  our  hopes. 

Pfiil.  She  stands  as  if  his  words    - 
Had  powerful  magic  in  them. 

Tfieo.  Will  you  nave  me 
Your  pupil  ever?  the  down  on  my  chin 
Confirms  I  am  a  man,  a  man  of  men, 
The  emperor,  that  knows  his  strength. 

Pul.  Heaven  grant 
You  know  it  not  too  soon ! 

Theo.  Let  it  suflSce 
My  wardship's  out.    If  your  design  concerns  ua 
As  a  man,  and  not  a  boy,  with  our  allowance 
You  may  deliver  it. 

Pul.  A  strange  alteration ! 
But  I  will  not  eentend.    Be  as  ybu  wish,  air. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     277 

Your  own  disposer ;  uncompcllM  I  cancel 

All  bonds  of  my  authority.  [Kneeis. 

Theo.  You  in  this 
Pay  your  due  homage,  which  performed,  I  thus 
Embrace  you  as  a  sister ;  [Raises  her  J  no  way 

doubting 
Your  vigilance  for  my  safety  as  my  honour; 
And  what  you  now  come  to  impart,  I  rest 
Most  confident^  points  at  one  of  them. 

Pul.  At  both  ;    . 
And  not  alont  the  present,  but  the  future 
Tranquillity  of  your  mind  ;  since  in  the  choice 
Of  her  you  arc  to  heat  with  holy  fires, 
And  make  the  consort  of  your  royal  bed, 
The  certain  means  of  glorious  succession, 
With  the  trije  happiness  of  our  human  being. 
Are  wholly  comprehended. 

Theo.  How!  a  wife?    , 

« 

Shall  I  become  a  votary  to  Hymen, 
fiefore  my  youth  hath  sacrificed  to  Venus? 
'Tis  something  with  the  soonest :— yet,  to  shew> 
In  things  indifferent,  I  am  not  averse 
To  your  wise  counsels,  let  me  first  survey 
Those  beauties,  that,  in  being  a  prince,  I  know 
Are  rivals  for  me.    You  will  not  confine  mc 
To  your  election ;  I  must  see,  dear  sister^ 
With  mine  own  eyes. 

PuL  Tis  fit,  sir.    Yet,  in  this," 
You  may  please  to  consider,  absolute  princes 
Have,  or  should  have,  in  policy,  less  free  will 
Than  such  as  are  their  vassals :  for,  you  must, 
As  you  are  an  emperor,  in  this  high  business 
Weigh  with  due  providence,  with  whom  alliance 
May  be  most  useful  for  the  preservation 
Or  increase  of  your  empire. 

Theo.  I  approve  not 
Such  compositions^  for  our  moral  endi, 

V#L.  III.  ♦  XJ 


378     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 


In  what  is  in  itself  divine,  nay,  mof e,  v 

Decreed  in  heaven.  Yet;  if  our  neighbour  princeS| 
Ambitious  of  such  nearness,,  shall  present 
Their  dearest  pledges  to  me,  (ever  reserving 
The  caution  of  mine  own  content,)  I  will  not 
Contemn  their  courteous  offers. 

Pul.  Bring  in  the  pictures. 

[Two  pictures  brought  in. 

Theof  Must  I  then  judge  the  substances  by  the 
shadows? 
The  painters  are  most  envious,  if  they  want 
Good  colours  for  preferment:  virtuous  ladies 
Love  this  way  to  be  flattered,  and  accuse 
The  workman  of  detraction,  if  he  add  not 
Some  grace  they  cannot  truly  call  their  own. 
Is'fc  not  so,  Gratianus?  you  may  challenge 
Some  interest  in  the- science.  * 

Grat.  A  pretender 
To  the  art,  I  truly  honour,  and  subscribe 
To  your  niajesty's  opinion. 

Th^o.  Let  me  see——  [Reads. 

Cleanthe,  daughter  to  the  king  of  Epire^ 
JEtatis  suce^  the  fourteenth :  ripe  enough, 
And  forward  too,  I  assure  /f ou.    Let  me  exainine 
The  symmetries.     If  statuaries  could 
By  the  foot  of  Hercules  set  down  punctually 
His  whole  dimensions,  and  the  countenance  b^ 
The  index  of  the  mind,  this  may  instruct  me, 
With  the  aids  of  that  I've  read  touching .  tljfis 

subject,  •  ;     . 

What  she  is  inward.    The  colour  of  her  hair, 
If  it  be,  as  this  does  promise,  pale  and  faint. 
And  not  a  glistering  white;  her  brow,  sp  so; 
The  circles  of  her  sight,  too  much  contracted  j-*— 
Juno's  fair  cowrcyes  by  old  Homer  are 

Commended  to  their  merit  ;^  here's  a  sharp  frost, 

» > 

•  Juno*sfair  cow-eyes  by  old  Homer  are 
Commended  to  their  merit  :2  Ma^singer  ,8eexa»  pleaised  with 


.'THE  EMPEROR  Ot  THE  EAST.     ^879 

in  the  tip  t)f  her  nose/  ^bich,  by  the  length^  as-* 

sures  me 
Of  storms  at  midtiight,  if  I  fail  to  pay  her 
The  tribiite'she  expects,,   I  like  her  not:' 
What  i$  the  other  ?    • 

Chry.  How  hath  he  commenced 
Doctor  in  this  so  sweet  and  secret  art, 
Without  our  knowledge  P" 

7tm.  Some  of  his  forward  pages 
Have  robbed  ps  of  the  honour. 

PhiL  No  Such  matter ;    '  . 

He  has  the  theory  only,  not  the  practic* 

Theo.  [reads.]   Amasia^  sister  to  the  duke  of 
Athens  ; 
Her  age  eighteen^  descended  lineally 
From  TheseuSy  as  by  her  pedigrpe 
Will  be  made  appm'ent.    Of  his  lusty  kindred, 

'this  versiofi  of  Qowmsy  for  he  has  it  in  other  places.  It  is  hon^- 
ever  so  un€out)ij  a  translation,  that,  to  use  the  langaage  pf  the 
author's  time,  the  ladies,  t  susjject,  ^^  donned  him  little  thai^ks 
for  it."  Homer's  peace  is  easily  made:  we  may  venture  to 
affirm  that  in  applying  the  epithet  to  his  goddess,  he  thought 
iis  Kttle  of  likening  her  eyes  to  a  cow's  as  to  those  of  any  .other 
animal^  he  merely  meant  f^rge  Or  rather ^0//  eyes:  '0f4Dp^  ir- 

.  BOXiniN  aum»  •Hojuo't.    LiBAN.    So  the  word  should  be  trans- 
lated, and  so,  indeed,  it  is  translated  by  Beamvont  and  Fletcher 

in  the  Two  Noble  Kinsmen : 

f  Chry.-  How  Hath  he  commenced 
Doctor  in  this  so  sweet  and  secret  nrt ; 
Without  our  kmmledgefl  Thus  Fletcher  s      . 

**  Come,  doctor  Andrew,  without  disputatioh 

^  Thou  shalt  commence  m  the  cellar."    The  Elder  Brother* 

This  fondness  for  the  introduction  of  college  language  has  been 
already  noticed :  see  Vol.  I.  p.  dOS. 

*  He  hoM  the  theory  onh/^  not  the  practic]  Mr.  M.  Mason  reads 
.  practice*    All  the  copies  concur  in  giving  practic  ;  and  tthis  was 
|he  language  of  Massinger's  age. 

•us 


«80     THE  EMPEROR  OP  THE  EAST. 

And  lose  so  much  time  !  'tis  strange  ! — as  Ilivt^i 

she  hath 
A  philosophical  aspect ;  there  is 
More  wit  than  beauty  in  her  face ;  and,  when 
I  *court  her,  it  must  be  in  tropes,  and  figures, 
Or  she  will  cry,  Absurd  !*   she  will  have  her 

elenchs* 
To  cut  off  any  fallacy  I  can  hope 
To  put  upon  her,  and  expect  I  should 
Ever  conclude  in  syllogisms,  and  those  true  onei 
In  parte  et  toto :  or  she'll  tire  me  with 
Her  tedious  elocutions  in  the  praise  of 
The  increase  of  generation,  for  which 
Alone,  the  sport,  in  her  morality, 
Is  good  and  lawful,  and  to  be  often  practised 
For  fear  of  missing.    Fie  on't !  let  the  race 
Of  Theseus  be  matched  with  Aristotle's  : 
I'll  none  of  her. 

'  Or  she  xoill  cry^  Absurd  1]  Theodosins  is  here  got  into  his 
logical  phraseology.  Absurd^  facis^  or  absurde  coUigisy  is  a  term 
used  in  disputation,  when  false  conclusions  are  drawn  from  thr 
opponent's  premises.  The  expression  occurs  in  the  Elder  Brother : 
Do  they. (i.  e.  ^^  academics'') 

*^  Do  they  know  any  thing  but  a  tired  hackney? 

^^  And  then  they  cry  Absurd  !  as  the  horse  understood  them. 

This  Theobald  calls  nonsense :  it  is^  howerer,  the  absurd^  facts 
of  the  schools ;  and  is  meant  to  ridicule  that  perrerse  and  awk- 
ward pedantry  which  applies  the  langu^e  of  art  to  the  trifling 
occurrences  of  common  life. 

*  She  will  have  her  elenchs]  So  the  old  copy ;  poor  Cozeter^ 
who  seems  to  have  forgotten  his  logic»  as  well  as  his  Greek, 
not  knowing  what  to  make  of  this  word,  altered  it  to  clenches  ! 
the  most  unfortunate  term  that  he  could  have  chosen.  Mr.  M. 
Mason,  t«ry  much  to  the  credit  of  bis  ^^  accuracy/'  continued 
thtf  blander ;  though  how  a  clenckf  of  which  the  property  is  ta 
^jr  Of  confirm  an  argument^  is  to  destroy  it,  he  did  not  think  pro- 
per to  enquire.  Elench  (from  t7^yx»J  is  a  sophistical  refutation 
#f  a  position  maintained  by  an  opp^^nent. 


-      THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

PuL  You  are  curious  in  your  choicei  sir, 
And  hard  to  please ;  yet,  if  that  your  consent 
May  give  authority  to  it,  I'll  present  you 
With  one,  that,  if  her  birth  and  fortunes  answer 
The  rarities'  of  her  body  and  her  mind, 
Detraction  durst  not  tax  her. 

Tkeo.  Let  me  see  her. 
Though  wanting  those  additiofis,  which  we  can 
Supply  from  our  own  store :  it  is  in  us 
To  make  men  rich  and  noble ;  but  to  give 
Legitimate  shapes  and  virtues  does  belong 
To  the  great  Creator  of  them,  to  whose  bounties 
Alone  'tis  proper,  and  in'  this  disdains 
An  emperor  for  his  rival. 

PuL  I  applaud 
This  fit  acknowledgment ;  since  princes  then 
Grow  less  than  common  men,  when  they  contend- 
With  him,  by  whom  they  arc  so. 

£;f^er  Paulinus,  Cleon,  and  At h^isiais  richly 

habited. 


/ 


Theo.  I  confess  it. 

Put.  Not  to  hold  you  in  suspense,  behold  the 
virgin. 
Rich  in  her  natural  beauties,  no  way  borrowing 
The  adulterate  aids  of  art.    Peruse  her  better ; 
She's  worth  your  serious  view. 

PMl.  I  am  amazed  too : 
I  never  saw  her  equal. 

The  rartfie<&c.]  So  read  th6  old  copies,  and  8p  reads 
Cozeter;  for  anmer  Mr.  M.  Mason,  to  spoil  a  pretty  passage, 
chooses  to  print  amuet^d  I  bat  indeed  he  has  corrnpted  all  this 
scene;  in  the  neit  speech,  for  our  own  itore^  he  has  our  stortf 
which  utterly  snbf  erts  the  metre. 


S82 .   THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Grat.  How  his  ey6 
Is  fix'd  upoii  her  I 

Jim.  And,  as  she  were  a  fort 
He'd  suddenly  surprise,  he  measures  her 
From  the  bases  to  the  battlements. 

Chry.  Ha !  now  I  view  her.  better, 
I  know  her ;  'tis  the  maid  that  not  long  sincc^ 
Was  a  petitioner ;  her  bravery 
So  alters  her,  I  had  forgot  her  face* 

Phil.  S6\  has  the  emperor. 

Paul.  She  holds  out  yet, 
And  yields  not  to  the  assault. 

Cle.  She's  strongly  guarded' 
In  her  virgin  blushes. 

Paul.  When  you  know,  fair  creature, 
It  is  the  emperor  that  honours  you 
With  such  a  strict  survey  of  your  sweet  par^ 
In  thankfulness  you  cannot  but  retui;!! 
Due  reverence  for  the  favour. 

Aiken.  I  was  lost 
In  my  astonishment  at  the  glorious  object^ 
And  yet  rest  doubtful  whether  he  expects,^ 
Being  more  than  man,  my  adoration, 
Sjncc  sure  there  is  divinity  about  him : 
Or  will  rest  satisfied,  if  my  humbl?  Kne^s. 
Iq  duty  thus  bow  to  him.. . 

Theo.  Ha !  it  speaks. 
*    Pul.  She  is  no  statue,  sir. 

Theo.  Suppose  her  one. 
And  that  she  had  nor  oi'gans,  voice,  nor  he^t^ 
Most  willingly  I  would  resign  ix\y  empire, 
So  it  might  be  to  aftprtimes  recorded 
That  I  was  her  Pygmalion  ;  thdueh,  like  him,^ 
I  doted  oii  my  workmanship,  witnout  hofie  tooi 
Of  having  Cytbferea  so  propitious     .  ; 
To  my  vows  or  sacrifice,  in  her  c^mpassio^ 
To  ^ive  it  life  or  motion. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     S9S 

# 

PuL  Pray  you,  be  not  rapt  so, 
Nor  borrow  from  imaginary  fiction 
Impossible  aids :  she's  flesh  and  blood,  t  assure  you ; 
And  if  you  please  to  honour  her  in  the  trial, 
And  be  your  own  security,  as  you'll  find 
I  fable  not,  she  comes  in  a  noble  way 
To  be  at  your  devotion, 

Chry.  Tis  the  maid 
r  offered  to  your  highness ;  her  changed  shape 
Conceard  her  from  you  : 

Theo.  At  the  first  I  knew  her. 
And  a  second  firebr^id  Cupid  brings,  to  kindle 
My  flames  almost  put  out ;  I  am  too  cold, 
And  play  with  opportunity. — May  I  taste  then 
The  nectar  of  her  lip  }— [Kisses  her.] — I  do  not. 

give  it 
The  praise  it' merits  :  antiquity  is  too  poor 
To  help  me  with  a  simile  to  express  her : 
Let  me.  drink  often  from  this  living  spring. 
To  nourish  new  invention. 

Ful.  Do  not  surfeit 
In  over-greedily  devouring  that 
Which  may  without  satiety  feast  you  often. 
From  the  modieration  in  receiving  them. 
The  choicest  viands  do  continue  pleasing 
To  the  most  curious  palates.    If  you  think  her 
Worth  your  embraces,  and  the  sovereign  title 
Of  the  Grecian  Empress.-^ — 

Theo.  If !  how  much  you  sin, 
Only  to  doubt  it ;  the  possession  of  her 
Makes  all  that  was  before  most  precious  to  me, 
Common  and  cheap:  in  this  you've  shewn  yourself 
A  provident  protectress.    I  already 
Grow  weary  of  the  absolute  command 
Of  my  so  numerous  subjects,  and  desire 
No  soyereignty  but  here,  and*write  down  gladly 
A  period  to  my  wishes. 


/\ 


S84    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  £AST» 

PuL  Yet,  before 
It  be  too  late,  consider  her  condition ; 
Her  father  was  a  pagan,  she  herself 
A  new-converted  Christian. 
.    Theo.  Let  me  know 
The  man  to  whose  religious  means  I  o^e 
So  great  a  debt. 

Paul.  You  are  advanced  too  high,  sir, 
To  acknowledge  abeholdingness;  'tis  dischargedi, 
And  I  beyond  my  hopes  rewarded,  if 
My  service  please  your  majesty. 

Theo.  Take  this  pledge     * 
Of  our  assured  love.    Are  there  none  here 
Have  suits  to  prefer  !•  on  such  a  day  as  this 
My  bounty's  without  limit.    O  my  dearest  !- 
I  will  not  hear  thee  speak ;  whatever  in 
Thy  thoughts  is  apprehended,  1  gra<it  freely : 
Thou  wouldst  plead  thy  unworthiness.  By  thyself; 
The  magazine  of  felicity,  in  thy  lowness 
Our  eastern  queens,  at  their  full  height^  bow  to^ 

thee, 
And  are,  in  their  best  trim,  thy  foils  and  shadows  I 
Excuse  the  violence  of  my  love,  which  cannot 
Admit  the  least  delay^     Command  the  patriarch 
With  speed  to  do  his  holy  office  for  us. 

That,  when  wci  are  made  one 

Pul.  You  must  forbear,  sir ; 
She  is  not  yet  baptized. 

Theo.  In  the  same  hour 
In  which  she  is  confirmed  in  our  fcuth^ 
We  mutually  will  give  away  es^ch  other, 
And  both  be  gainers;  we'll  hear  no  reply 
That  may  divert  us.     On. 
PuL  You  may  hereafter 
Please  to  remember  to  whose  furtheranco 
You  owe  this  height  of  bappineaa* 
Athcn.  As  I  was 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST*     £35 

Your  creature  when  I  first  petitioned  yoq, 
X  will  continue  so,  and  you  shall  find  me^ 
Though  an  empress,  still  your  servant. 

[All  go  offy^  but  Philanavt  Gratiantss^  and 
Timantus. 

Grat.  Here's  a  marriager 
Made  up  o'  the  sudden  ! 
^Phil.  I  repine  not  at 
The  fair  maia's  fortune,  though  I  fear  theprincesi 
Had  some  peculiar  end  in't* 

lim.  Who's  so  simple 
Only  lo  doubt  it? 

Grat.  It  is  too  apparent ; 
She  hath  preferred  a  creature  of  her  own» 
By  whose  means  she  may  still  keep  to  herself 
The  government  of  the  empire, 

7tm.  Whereas,  if 
The  emperor  had  espoused  some  neighbour  queCQi 
Pulcheria,  with  all  ner  wisdom,  could  not 
Keep  her  pre-eminence, 

Phil.  Be  it  as  it  will, 
Tis  not  now  to  be  alter'd.    Heaven,  I  say. 
Turn  all  to  the  best ! 

Grat.  Are  we  come  to  praying  again? 

Phil.  Leave  thy  pro£aneness» 

Grat.  Would  it  wou^ld  leave  me  ! 
I  am  sure  I  thrive  not  by  it. 

Iim.  Come  to  the  temple* 

Grat.  Even  where  you  will< — ^I  know  not.  what 
to  think  on't.  [Eamntm 

^Mlgoofbttt  PhUanaXy  kc.}  So  the  old^opiet.  Coxeter,  to 
let  ^*  his  reading  and  writing  appear,"  translates  it  into  Latin^ 
^nd  prints,  4U  evt  M  PkHtmoMt  &a  and  tiia  <<  most  correctT.of 
l^oia  follows  hiia« 


386    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST, 


ACrill.    SCENE  I. 

« 

A  Hoom  in, the  Palace. 

Enter  Paulinus  and  Philanax.. 

^^aul.  Nor  this,  nor  the  ag^e  before  us,  ever 
look'd  on 
'  The;  like  solemnity. 

Phil.  A  sudden  fever  ' 

"Kept  me  at  home.    Pray  you,^  my  lord,  acquaint 

me 
With  the  particulars. 

Paul.  You  may  presume 
Ko  pomp  nor  ceremony  could  be  wanting. 
Where  there  was  privilege  to  command,  and  mean& 
To  cherish  rare  inventions. 

PhiL  I  believe  it ; 
But  the  sum  of  all  in  brief. 

PauL  Pray  you,  so  take  it : 
Fair  Atheciais,  not  long  since  a  suitor. 
And  almost  in  her  hopes  forsaken,  first 
W^s  christened,  qindthe  emperor's  mother's  name^ 
Eudocia,  as  he  will'd,  imposed  uppn  her ; 
Pulcheria,  the  ever-matchless  princess, 
j^ssisted  by  her  reverend  aunt  Maria, 
Her  godmotherSf 

Phil.  And  who  the  masculine  witness?* 

Paul.  At  the  new  empress' suit,  I  had  thehonourj 
For  which  I  mcist  ever  serve  her. 

I  PhiL  And  tsko  the  masculine  witness?]    And  whg  the  mah 


1*flE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST,      sa? 

Phil.  'Twas  a  grace 
With  justice  you  may  boast  of. 

PauL  The  marriage  follow*d  ; 
And,  as  'tis  said,  the  emperor  made  bold 
To  turn  the  day  to  night ;  for  to  bed  they  went 
As  soon  as  they  had  dined,  and  there  are  wagers 
Laid  by  some  merry  lords,  he  hath  already 
Begot  a  boy  upon  her. 

Phil.  That  is  yet 
To  be  determined  of;  but  I  am  certain 
A  prince,  so  soon  in  his  disposition  ^iltOT'd, 
Was  never  heard  nor  read  of. 

Paul.  But  of  late, 
Frugal  and  sparing,  now  nor  bounds  nor  limits 
To  his  magnificent  bounties.    He  affirm'd 
Having  received  more  blessings  by  his  empress 
Than  he  could  hope,  in  thankfulness  to  heaven 
He  cannot  be  too  prodigal  to  other*. 
Whatever's  ofFcr'd  to  his  royakhand, 
He  signs  without  perusing  it, 

PhiL  I  am  here 
Enjoin'd  to  free  all  such  as  lie  for  debt, 
The  creditors  to  be  paid  out  of  bis  coffers. 

PauL  And  I  alU  malefactors  that  are  not 
Convicted  or  for  treason  or  foul  murder  j     « 
3ucli  only  are  excented. 


sponsor  f  So  the  "word  is  frequently  used  by  our  author  and  his 
contemporaries^  in  ridicule,  as  it  should  seem^  of  the  puritans; 
Thi^s  Jonson*: 

^^  And  that,  as  |>aritans  at  baptism  do, 
*^  T)iOfi  art  the  father,  and  thewitmss  too/*        £i^gf«  Hii« 

Again :.  ■.[-'.. 

'  Quar.  His  Chnstian*'naine  is  Zeal.of-tbe«ilaDd  ? 
Lit.  Yesy  sir,  Zeal-of-the-land  Busy. 
Wifi'W*  How  I  what  a  name's  there  ?  .  ^ 

Lit.  O,  the^  have  all  such  names,  sir ;  he  was  witness  for  Wi|i, 

Jiere,-— they  will  not  be  called  godfathers,       Bartholomew  Fair* 


438     THE  EMPEROK  OF  THE  EAST. 

PhiL  *Tis  a  rare  clemency  ! 
JPauL  Which  we  must  not  dispute,  but  put  in 
practice.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. 
Another  Room  in  the  tame, 

• 

Zoud  Music;  Shouts  within:  Heareu  preserve  the 
Emperor !  Heaven  bless  the  Empress !  Then 
enter,  in  state,  the  Patriarch,  Chrtsapius^ 
Paulinus,  Theodosius,  Eudocia,  Pulche-^ 
hia;  Arcadia  and  Flaccilla,  bearing  up 
EOdoCia's  train ;  foUsiwed hf  Philanax,  Gra- 
TiANUs,  and  Tihavtus.  Several  Suitors  pre^ 
sent  petitions  to  the  Emperor ^  'which  he  seals. 

PuL  Sir,  by  your  own  rules  of  philosophy,  , 
You  know  things  vioknt  last  not.  Kbyal  bounties 
Are  great  and  gracious,  while  the^  are  dispensed 
With  moderation ;  but,  when  their  excess 
In  giving  giant-bulks  to  others,  takes  from 
The  prince's  just  proportion,  they  lose 
The  name  of  virtues,  and,  their  natures  changed. 
Grow  the  most  dangerous  vices. 

Theo.  In  this,  sister. 
Your  wisdom  is  ndt  circular;*  they  that  sow 
In  narrow  bounds,  cannot  expect  in  reason 
A  crop  beyond  their  ventures :  what  I  do 
Disperse,  I  lend,  and  will  with  usury 
Return  unto  my  heap.    I  only  then 
Am  rich  and  happy  (though  my  coffers  sound 
With  emptiness)  when  my  glad  subjects  feel 
Their  plenty  and  felicity  is  my  gift ; 

*  Theo.  In  thu^  sitiery 

Tour  mdom  it  not  circidftr }]  A  latinism ;  not/tiff  aod  perfects 


TH£  emperor  of  the  east.     889 

And  they  will  find,  when  they  with  cheerfulness 
Supply  not  my  defects,  I  being  the  stomach 
To  the  politic  body  of  the  state,  the  limbs 
Grow  suddenly  faint  and  feeble :  I  could  urgt 
Proofsofmorefinenessintheirshap^and  language^ 
But  none  of  greater  strength. — Dissuade  me  not ; 
What  we  will,  we  will  do ;  yet,  to  assure  you 
.  Your  care^does  not  offend  us,  for  an  hour 
Be  happy  in  the  converse  of  my  best 
And  dearest  comfort.    May  you  please  to  license. 
My  privacy  some  few  minutes  ? 

Eud.  License,  sir ! 
1  Jiave  no  will  but  is  derived  from  yours^ 
And  that  still  waits  upon  you ;  nor  can  I 
Be  left  with  such  security  with  any 
As  with  the  gracious  princess,  who  receivef 
Addition,  though  she  be  all  excellence, 
In  being  styled  your  sister. 

Theo.  O  sweet  creature ! 
Let  me  be  censured  fond,  and  too  indulgent. 
Nay,  though  they  say  uxorious,  I  car^  not— 
Her  love  and  sweet  humility  exact 
A  tribute  far  above  my  power  to  pay 
Her  matchless  goodness.     Forward. 

{Flourish.   Exeunt  all  but  Pulcheria,  BudodMp 
Arcadia^  and  Flaecilla. 

PuL  No'w  you  find 
Your  dying  father's  prophecy,  that  foretold 
Your  present  greatness,  to  the  full  acco{nplish^d| 
For  the  poor  aids  and  furtherance  I  lent  you^ 
I  willitigly  forget. 

Eud.  Even  that  binds  me 
To  a  more  strict  remembrance  of  the  favour  j 
Nor  shall  you,  from  my  foul  ingratitude^ 
In  any  circumstance,  ever  find  cause 
To  upbraid  me  with  your  benefit* 

PuL  I  believe  80. 


1^90    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

.t>ray  you,  give  us  leave : — [Arcadia  and  Flatcittd 

:  walk  aside.l — What  now  I  must  deliver 
Under  the  deepest  seal  of  secrecyj 

^  Though  it  be  for  your  good,  will  give  assurance 
Of  what  is  look'd  for>  if  you  not  alone 
:Hear,  but  obey  my  counsels. 

Eud.  They  must  b^ 
Of  a  strange  nature,  if  with  zealous  speed 
I  put  them  not  in  practice. 

.      PuL  *Twere  impertinence 
To  dwell  on  circumstances,  since  the  wound 
Requires  a  sudden  cure  ;  especially 
Sincp  you,  that  are  the  happy  instrument 
Elected  to  it,  though  young,  in  your  judgment 
Write  far  above  your  years,  and,jnay  instruct 
Such  as  are  more  experienced. 

End.  Good  madam> 
In  this  I  must  oppose  you;  I  am  well 
Acquainted  with  my  weakness,  and  it  will  not 
Become  your  wisdom,  by  which  I  am  raised 
Tathis  titulary  height,  that  should  correct 
The-pride  and  overweening  of  my  fortune^ 
To  play  the  parasite  to  it,  in  ascribing 
That  merit  to  me,  unto  which  I  can 
Pretend  no  interest :  pray  you,  excuse 
My  bold  simplicity,  and  to  my  weight 
Design  me  where  you  please,  and  you  shall  find^ 
In  rty  obedience,  I  am  still  your  creature. 
PuL  'Tis  nobly  an&wer'd,  and  I  glory  in 
The  building  I  have  raised :  go  on,  sweet  lady, 

•In  this  your  virtuous  progress :  but  to  the  point 
You  know,  nor  do  I  envy  it,  you  have 
Acquired  that  power ^ which,  not  long  sincci  was 

minCj 
In  governing  the  emperor,  and  must  use 
The  strength  you  hold  in  the  heart  of  his  affec- 
tions. 


* 


THE  ExMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST*  .291 

»■ 
«  ■  , 

For  his  private,  as  the  public  preservatioa, 
To  which  there  is  no  greater  enemy 
Than  his  exorbitant  prodigality, 
Howe'ef  his  sycophants  and  flatterei\s  call  it 
Royal  magnificence ;  and  though  you^  may 
Urge  what*s  done  for  your  honour  mu^t  not  be 
Curbed  ^r  controU'd  by  you,  you  cannot  in 
Your  wisdom  but  conceive,  if  that  the  torrent 

.  Of  his  violent  bounties  be  not  stopp'd  or  lessen'd^ 
It  will  prove  most  pernicious.  Therefore,  niadam^ 
Since  'tis  your  duty,  as  you  are  his  wife. 
To  give  him  saving  counsels,  and  in  being. 
Almost  his  idol,  may  command  him  to 
Take  any  shape  you  please,  with  a  powerful  hand 

To  ^top  him  in  his  precipice  to  ruin 

Eud.  Avert  it,  heaven,! 
..  PuL  Heaven  is  most  gracious  to  you, 
In  choosing  you  to  be  the  instrument 
Of  such  a  piQus  work.    You  see  he  signs 
What  suit  soevej  is  preferred,  not  once 
J^nquiring  what  it  is,  yielding  himself 
A  prey  to  all ;  I  .would,  therefore,  have  you,  lady, 
As  I  know  you  will,  to  advise  him^  or  command 

him, 
As'he  would  reap  the  plenty  of  your  favours, 
To  use  more  moderation  in  his  bounties; 
And  that,  before  he  gives,  he  would  consider 

.  The  what,  to  whom,  and  wherefore. 

Eud.  Do  you  think ' 
Such  arrogance,  or  usurpation  rather, 
Of  what  is  proper  and  peculiar 
To  every  private  husband,  and  much  more 
To  him,  an  emperor,  can  rank  with  the  obediencip 


•^*i  1 


— ' —  and  though  you  mttjj]  So  the  old 
copies,  and*  rightly :  the  modem  editors  tedA-^and  though  ht 
fMiy;  which  absoiutely  destroys  the  author's  mea&iog. 


t9%    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

And  duty  of  a  wife  ?  Are  we  appointed 
In  our  creation  (let  me  reason  with  you) 
To  rule,  or  to  obey  ?  or,  'cause  he  loves  me 
,  With  a  kind  impotence,  must  I  tyrannize 
Over  his  weakness,  or  abuse  the  strength    • 
With  which  he  arms  me,  to  his  wrong  ?  or,  lik6 
A  prostituted  creature,  merchandize 
Our  mutual  delight  for  hire,  or  to 
Serve  mine  own  sordid  ends?  In  vulgar  nuptials 
Priority  is  exploded,  though  there  be 
A  difference  in  the  parties ;  and  shall  I, 
His  vassal,  from  obscurity  raised  by  him 
To  this  so  eminent  light,  presume  t'  appoint  him 
^  To  do,  or  not  to  do,  this,  or  that  ?  Wnen  wives 
*  Are  well  accommodated  by  their  husbands. 
With  all  things  both  for  use  and  ornament. 
Let  them  fix  there,  and  never  dare  to  question 
Thdir  wills  or  actions :  for  myself,  I  vow, 
Though  now  my  lord  would  rashly  give  away 
His  sceptre  and  imperial  diadem, 
Or  if  there  could  be  any  thing  more  precious, 
I  would  not  cross  it : — but  I  know  this  is 
But  a  trial  of  my  temper,  and  as  such 
I  do  receive  it;  or,  irt  be  otherwise. 
You  are  so  subtle  in  your  arguments 
I  dare  not  stay  to  hear  them.      [Offers  to  retire. 

Put.  Is  it  even  so  ? 
I  have  power  o'er  these  yet,  and  command  their 

stay, 
To  barken  nearer  to  me.    , 
Arcad.  We  are  charged 
By  the  emperor,  our  brother,  to  attend 
The  empress'  service. 

Flac.  You  are  too  mortified,  sister, 
(With  reverence  I  speak  it,)  for  young  ladiei 
To  keep  you  company.    I  am  so  tired 
With  your  tedious  exhortations,  doctrines^  uses. 


.   THE  tMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST,     m 

Of  your  religious  morality/ 
That,  for  my  health's  sake,  I  must  take  the  freedom 
To  enjoy  a  little  of  those  pretty  pleasures 
That  I  was  born  to. 

^Arcad.  When  I  come  to  your  years, 
I'll  do  as  you  do;  but,  till  then,  with  your  pardon, 
I'll  lose  no  mpre  time.     I  have  not  learn'd  to 

dance  yet> 
Nor  sing,  but  holy  hymns,  and  those  to  vile  tunes 

too; 
Nor  to  discourse  but  of  schoolmen's  opinions. 
How  shall  I  answer  my  suitors,  since,  I  hope, 
Ere  lojig  I  shall  have  many,  without  pra'ctice 
To  write,  and  speak,  something  that's  not  derived 
From  the  fathers  of  philosophy  ? 

Flac.  We  shall  shame 
Our  breeding,  sister,  if  we  should  go  on  thus. 


I  am  90  tired 


With  your  tedious  exhortations^  doctrines,  uses. 
Of  your  religious  moralitjfj]  These  lines  stand  thus  in  Coxetelft 
«nd  M.  Mason : 

■    ■  .2"  am  so  tired 

With  your  tedious  exhortations^  doctrines. 
Uses  of  your  religious  morality. 

To  say  nothing  of  the  total  disregard  of  metre,  it  is  n^iinifest 
that  the  sense  was  altogether  OTerlooked.  Uses^  which  they 
connect  with  the  following  words,  is  a  distinct  expression, 
adopted,  by  our  old  dramatists,  from  the  puritans,  who  usually 
diTided  their  discourses  into  doctrines  and  itses  ;  by  the  former 
of  which  tfiey  meant  the  explanation  of  their  subject,  and  by  the 
latter,  the  practical  inferences  drawn  from  it.  Thus,  in  the  Or m 
dinaryy  by  Cartwright :  Andrew  says : . 

<^  Here's  no  proofs, 

^^  No  doctrines^  nor  no  uses;  tutor,  I 
<<  Would  fain  learn  some  religion/' 

And  in  the  Magnetic  Lady^  by  Jonson ; 

^^  The  parson  has  an  edifying  stanach, 
^^  And  a  persuading  palate,  like  his  name ; 
^^  He  hath  begttn  three  draughts  of  sack  in  doctrines^ 
^^  And  four  in  i»e«.'' 
VOL,  III.  ♦X 


254     THE  EMPEROR  QF  THE  EAST- 

Arcad.  'Tis  for  your  credit  that  we  study 
Hov  to  converse  with  men ;  women  with  wompn 
Yields  but  a  barren  argument. 

Flac.  She  frowns^ — - 
But  you'll  protect  us,  madam  ? 

Eud.  Yes,  and  love  . 
Ypur  §\veet  simplicity. 

\Arcad.  All  young  girls  are  so, 
Till  they  know  the  way  of  it.' 

Flac.  But,  when  we  are  entered, 
We  shall  on  a  good  round  pace. 

Eud.  I'll  leave  you,  madam. 

Arcad.  And  we  our  duties  with  you.  _ 

[Exemt  Eudocia,  Arcadia,  andrm:tlfa. 

Pul.  On  all  hands  ^,  ^     , , 

Thus  slighted !  no  way  left?  Am  I  grown  stupid 
In  toy  invention?  can  I  naake  no  use 
Of  the  emperor's  bounties  ?— Now  'tis  thought : 
within,  there ! 

Enter  an  Attendant. 

Jtt.  Madam. 

Pul.  It  shall  he  ^o:— nearer;  ypur^ear. 
—Draw  a  petition  to  this  end,       [fVhisprs  fdm., 

Att.  Besides 
The  danger  to  prefer  it,  I  believe 
^Twill  ne'er  be  granted. 

Pul  How's  this  !  are  you  grown, 
From  a  servant,  my  dinedtor?  Ut.rftfe  keaf      . 

f  Arcad.  All  young  girls  are  spf 

Till  they  hnm  the  way  of  it.]  i.  e.  »jpiple.  Thepe  two  liaef, 
without  which  the  next  speech  cannot  be  understood,  are  wholly 
omitted  in  the  "  correetest  of  all  editions,"  and  Seyeral  other 
passages  mfeerably  mangled  and  corrupted,  both  in  t^e  printing 
and  pointing. 


THE  EMPEROU  OP  THE  EAST.     495 

Nomoreoftliis.  Dispatch;  \Exit Attendant J\  Til 

master  him 
At  his  owit  weapon. 

Enter  Theoj&osi¥s,  Paux-inus>*  Philanax, 
TiMANTUs,  and  Gi^atianus. 

'Th€o.  Let  me  understand  it, 
If  yet  there  be  aught  wanting  that  may  perfect 
A  general  happiness, 

Paul.  The  people's  joys 
In  seas  of  acclamations  flow  in. 
To  wait  on  yours. 

Phil.  Their  love,  with  bounty  levied, 
Is  a  sure  guard.:  obedience  forced  from  fear. 
Paper  fortification,  which,  in  danger. 
Will  yield  to  the  impression  of  a  reed, 
Or  of  itself  fall  off.  • 

Theo.  True,  Philanax ; 
And  by  that  certain  compass  we  resolve 
To  steer  our  bark  of  government. 

Rc-cnttr  Attendant  with  the  petition^  which  he 
secretly  delivers  to  Pulckeria. 

Put.  'Tis  well  [Kneels. 

Iheo.  My  dearest  and  my  all-deserving  sister 
As  a  petitioner  ktitel !  It  must  not  be. 
Pray  you,  rise;  although  your  suit  were  half  my 

empire, 
'Tis  freely  griatited^ 

Puis  Your  alacrity 
To  give  hath  made  a  beggar;  yet,  before 

'  Enter  T^Eooosjtus,  Patoiitus^  &c.]  AU  the  copies  rea^y 
Enter  Theodosius,  Favorinus^  &c.:  bat  as  this  Fav'orinus  ap- 
pears not  in  the  list  of  dramatis  persona;,  nor  in  any  other  part 
of  the  pla;f,  I  haVe  little  doubt  bat  that  it  is  a  misprint  for 
¥^ttlthv8^  and  hafe  regulated  the  entrance  aceofdingly.    «^ 

•X2 


S96     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

My  suit  is  by  your  sacred  hand  and  seal 

Confirm'd,  'tis  necessary  you  peruse 

The  sum  of  my  request.      [Presents  the  petition. 

Theo.  We  will  not  wrong  \ 

Your  judgment  in  conceiving  what  'tis  fit 
For  you  to  ask,  and  us  to  grant,  so  much. 
As  to  proceed  with  caution ;  give  me  my  signet: 
With  confidence  I  sign  it,  and  here  vow 
By  my  father's  soul,  but*  with  your  free  consent, 
It' is  irrevocable. 

Tim.  What  if  she  now, 
Calling  to  memory  how  often  we 
Have  crossed  her  government,  in  revenge  hath 

made 
Petition  for  our  heads  ? 

Grat.  They  must  even  off  then ; 
No  ransome  can  redeem  us. 

TheOn  Let  ^hoi^e  jewels 
So  highly  rated  by  the  Persian  merchants. 
Be  bought,  and,  as  a  sacrifice  from  us. 
Presented  to  Eudocia,  she  being  only 
Worthy  to  wear^  them,     I  am  angry  with 
The  unresistible  necessity 
Of  my  occasions  and  important  cares. 
That  so  long  keep  me  from  her. 

[Exeunt  TheodosiicSy  Paulinus,  Philanax^ 
TimantuSy  and  Gratianus.         ^ 

Pul.  Go  to  the  empress, 
And  tell  her,  on  the  sudden  I  am  sick, 
And  do  desire  the  comfort  of  a  visit, 
If  she  please  to  vouchsafe  it.  '  From  me  use 
Your  humblest  language — [Exit  Attendant.!^  but, 

when  once  I  have  her 
In  my  possession,  I  will  rise  and  speak 

•  ■  ■     'I    but  with  your  free  consenty 

It  is  irrevQcMe*}  u  e.  fsccft^  unless  with  70ttr  free  consent^&c. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     297 

la  a  higher  strain :  say  it  raise  storms,  no  matter ; 
Fools  judge  by  the  event,  my  ends  are  honest. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Theodosius,  Timantus,  and  Philanax, 

TTieo.  What  is  became  of  her  ?    Can  she,  that 
carries 
Such  gloridus  excellence  of  light  about  her, 
Be  any  where  concealed  ? 

PAiV.  We  have  sought  her.  lodgings, 
And  all  we  can  learn  from  the  servants,  is, 
She,  by  your  majesty's  sisters  waited  on, 
The  attendance  of  her  other  officers, 
By  her  express  command,  denied 

Theo.  Forbear 
Impertinent  circumstances, — whither  went  she? 
speak. 

Phil.  As  they  guess,  to  the  laurel  grove, 

Theo.  So  slightly  guarded  ! 
What  an  earthquake  I  feel  in  me  1  and,  but  that 
Religion  assures  the  contrary, 
The  poets'  dreams  of  lustful  fauns  and  satyrs 
Would  make  me  fear  I  know  not  what. 

Enter  Paulinus.* 

Paul  I  have  found  her, 
An  it  please  your  majesty. 

'  Enter  Pauuxts.]  So  the  old  copies.  The  modern  editors 
(It  is  impossible  to  say  why)  read,  enter  FavoriniUj  though  the 
Serfant^  a  little  below,  says, 

^^  The  prince  Paulmwy  madsiD» 
^<  ^«nt  from  the  emperor,".  &c. 


S98     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE 

7%eo.  Yes,  it  doth  please  me: 
But  why  rdturn*d  without  her? 

Paul  As  she  made 
Her  speediest  approaches  to  your  presence, 
A  servant  of  the  princesses,  Pulcheria, 
Encountered  her :  what  'twas  be  whisper'd  to  her 
I  am  ignorant ;  'but  hearing  it,  she  started. 
And  wiird  me  to  excuse  her  absence  from  you 
The  third  part  of  an  hour. 

7%eo.  In  this  she  takes 
So  much  of  my  life  from  me  :  yet,  Til  bear  it 
With  what  patience  I  may,  since  *tis  her  pleasure. 
Go  back,  m.y  good  F^ulinus,^  and  entreat  her 
Not  to  exceed  a  minute. 

Tim.  Here's  strange  fondness  \  lEseunt. 


SCENE  IV. 
Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Pulcheria  ^/i^f  Servants. 

PuL  You  are  certain  she  will  come  ?    . 

1  Serv.  §b€  is  already 
Enter'd  your  outward  lodgings/ 

Pul.  No. train  with  her  ? 

1  Serv.  Your  exqeilenoe'  sisters  only. 

Pul.  Tis  the  better. 
See  the  doors  strongly  guarded^  and  deny 
Access  to  all/  but  nith  our  special  license : 
Why  dost  thou  stay?  shew  your  obedience. 
Your  wisdom  now  is  useless.     [Exeunt  Servants. 

♦  €ro  backf  my  good  Ptmlinns,]  Gbzeter  and-  M .  Mhsoit,  hir 
cODseqneDce  of  their  absurd  departnf  e  from  the  old  copies',  amf 
substitution  of  one  name  for  another,,  are  obliged  to  ojDitjgood^ 
and  read,  Go  back,  my  Fayoriaur!  Fkdetj  fudeh 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     299 


'  Enter  EvDOCiAj  Arcadia,  ond^LACCiLhA. 

Flac.  Slie  is  sick,  pure, 
Or,  in  fit  reverence  to  your  majesty, 
She  had  waited  you  at  the  door. 

Arcad.  'Twould  hardly  Jbe  \Pulcheria  Walking  hy. 
Excused,  in  civil  manners,  to  her  equal : 
But  with  more  difficulty  to  you,  that  are 
So  far  above  hcri 

Eud,  Not  in  her  opinion ; 
She  hath  been  too  long  accustom'd  to  command, 
To  acknowledge  a  superior. 

Arcad.  Thete  she  tv^alks. 

Flac.  If  she  be  not  sick  of  the  sullens,  I  see  not 
The  least  infirmity  in  her. 

Eud.  This  is  strange ! 

Atcad*  Open  your  eyes  j  th«  empress. 
^  Puh  Reach  that  ehair : 
Now,  sitting  thus  at  distance,  I'H  vouchsafe 
To  look  upon  her. 

Arcad.  How,  sister  !  pray  you,  awake ; 
Are  you  in  your  wits  ? 

Flac.  Grant,  heaven,  your  too  much  learning 
Does  not  conclude  in  madriess  1 

Eud.  You  entreated 
A  visit  from  me^ 

PuL  True,  my  servant  used 
Such  language ;  but  now,  as  a  mistress,  I 
Command  yout  service* 
.  Eud.  Service! 

Arcad.  She's  stark  mad,  sure. 
'    Pul.  Youll  find  I  can  dispose  of  whiat's  mine 

ownj 
Widlout  a  guardian. 

Eud.  Follow  me.— I  will  isee  you 


800    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Whenyour  frantic  fit  is  o'er. — I  do  begin 
To  be  of  your  belief* 

Pul.  It  will  deceive  you. 
Thou  shalt  not  stir  from  hence ; — thus,  as  mini^ 

own, 
I  seize  upon  thee. 

Flac.  Help,  help !  violence 
Offered  to  the  empress'  person  I 

PuL  Tis  in  vain  : 
She  was  an  empress  once,  but,  by  my  gift^ 
Which  being  abused,  I  do  recall  my  grant. 
You  are  read  in  story ;  call  to  your  remeinbranco 
What  the  great  Hector's  mother,  Hecuba> 
Was  to  Ulysses,  Ilium  sack'd, 

Eud.  A  slave. 

PuL  To  me  thou  art  so. 

Eud.  Wonder  and  amazement 
Quite  overwhelm  me :  how  am  I  transform 'd  ? 
How  have  I  lost  my  liberty?      [Knocking wit ^n. 

PuL  Thou  shalt  know 
Too  soon,  no  doubW 

JEw^er'fl  Servant. 

Who's  that,  that  with' such  rudeness 
Beats  at  the  door? 

Serv.  The  prince  Paulinus,  madam  ; 
Sent  from  the  emperor,  to  attend  upon 
The  gracious  empress. 

Arcad.  And  wno  is  your  slave  now? 

Flac.  Sister,  repent  in  time,  and  beg  a  pardon 
For  your  presumption. 

PuL  It  is  resolved  : 
From  me  return  this  answer  to  Paulinus, 
She  shall  not  come ;  she's  mine ;  the  emperor  hath 
No  interest  in  her.  [Exit  Servant. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     SOI 

Eud.  Whatsoe'er  I  am, 
You  take  not  from  your  power  o'er  me,  to  yield 
A  reason  fpr  this  usage. 

Pul.  Though  my  will  is 
Sufficient,  to  add  to  thy  affliction, 
Know,  wretched  thing,  'tis  not  thy  fate,  but  folly. 
Hath  made  thee  what  thou  art :  'tisr  some  delight 
To  urge  my  merits  to  one  so  ungrateful ; 
Therefore  with  horror  hear  it.    When  thou  wert 
Thrust,  as  a  stranger,  ffom  thy  father's  house, 
Exposed  to  all  calamities  that  want 
Could  throw  upon  thee,  thine  own  brothers' scorn. 
And  in  thy  hopes,  as  by  the  world,  forsaken, 
My  pity  the  last  altar  that  was  left  thee, 
Iheard  thy  Syren  charms,  withfeeling  heard  them, 
And  my  compassion  made  mine  eyes  vie  tears 
With  thine,  dissembling  crocodile  !  and  when 

queens 
Were  emulous  for  thy  imperial  bed, 
The  garments  of  thy  sorrows  cast  aside, 
I  put  thee  in  a  shape'  as  would  have  forced 
Envy  from  Cleopatra,  had  she  seen  thee. 
Then,  when  I  knew  my  brother's  blood  was  warm'd 
With  youthful  fires,  I  brought  thee  to  his  pre- 
sence; 
And  how  my  deep  designs,  for  thy  good  plotted, 
Succeeded  to  my  wishes,  is  apparent, 
And  needs  no  repetition*. 

Eud.  I  am  conscious 
Of  your  so  many  and  unequall'd  favours; 
But  find  not  how  I  may  accuse  myself 
For  any  facts  committed,  that,  with  justice. 
Can  raise  your  anger  to  this  height  against  me« 
\PuL  Pride  and  forgetfulness  would   not  let 
thee  see  that, 

^  I  put  thee  in  a  shape  &c.]    i.  e.  a  magoificent  dres9,  habit; 
Alluding  to  her  dif  ectlona  to  the  serrant,  p«  275, 


«0«     THE  EMPEROR  OP  THE  EAST. 

Against  which  now  thou  canst  not  close  thy  cjcs. 
What  injury  could  be  equal  to  thy  late 
Contempt  of  my  good  counsel  ?  When  I  urged 
The  emperor's  prodigal  bounties,  and  entreated 
That  you  would  use  your  power  to  give  them 

limits, 
Or>  at  the  least,  a  doe  consideration 
Of  such  as  sfted,  atirf  for  what,  ef  e  he  sign'd  it ; 
In  opposition,  you  brought  against  rne 
The  obedience  of  al  wife,  that  ladies  were  nat, 
Being  well  accomm<]idated  by  their  lords, 
To  question,  buft  much  kss  to  cross,  their  plea^ 

sures; 
Nor  would  yon,  though  the  empe>of  were  resolved 
To  give  away  his  sceptre,  hinder  it, 
Since  'twas  done  for  your  honotit ;  covering,  with 
False  colours  of  humility,  yo^ir  ambition. 

Eud.  And  is  this  my  offence  ? 

Pul.  As  wicked  couns^el 
Is  still  most  hurtful  unto  thOM  that  g^d  il; 
Such  as  deny  to  follow  what  i^^  good. 
In  reason,  are-  the  first  that  must  repei^t  if.        ' 
When  I  please,  you  shall  hear  moft;  ift  the  itt^an 

time. 
Thank  your  own  wilful  folly,  that  bwli  ehanged 

yOtf 

From  an  empress  to  a^  bondwoiiiati. 
Tfieo.  [within.]  Force  the  door^ ; 
Kill  those  that  dare  resists 

-Ew^er  Theodosiu^,  Paulinus,  Philavax^ 
Chrysapius,  and  G rati A^tjs. 

End*  Dear  sir,  redeem  me» 

Floe.  O  suifer  not,  for  your  oivn  honoured  sake^ 
The  empress,  you  so  late  loved>  to  be  made 
A  priaoaer  in  the  court. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     305 

Arcad.  Leap  to  bis  lips, 
You'll  find  them  the  best  dahctttar3r. 

Flac,  And  try  then, 
What  interest  my  reverend  sister  hath 
To  force  you  from  them.' 

Thev.  What  strange  May-game's  this  ?    . 
Though  done  in  spoft,  how  ill  this  levity 
Becomes  your  wisdom  ? 

Puh  I  am  serious,  sir, 
And  have  doiie  nothing  but  what  you  in  honour^ 
And  as  3'ou  are  yourself  an  emperor. 
Stand  bound  to  justify. 

Theo.  Take  heed ;  put  not  these 
Strange  trials  on  my  patience. 

Pul.  Do  not  you,  sir, 
Deny  your  own  act :  As  you  are  a  man, 
And  stand  on  your  ownr  bottom,  'twill  appear 
A  childish  weakness  to  make  void  a  grant 
Sign'd    by  your    sacred    hand    and    seal,  and 

>  strengthened 
With  a  religious  oath,  but  with  my  license 
Never  to  be  recalled.    For  some  few  minutes 
Let  reason  rule  your  passion,  and  \n  this 

[Delivers  the  deei^ 
Be  pleased  to  read  my  interest :   you  will  find 

there, 
'What  you  in  me  call  violence,  is  justice. 
And  that  I  may  make  use  of  wbat^s  mine  own, 
According  to  my  will.     Tis  your  own  gift,  fAt ; 
And  what  an,  emperor  gives,  should  stand  as  firm 
As  the  celestial  poles  upon  the  shoulders 
Of  Atlas,  or  his  successor  in  that  ofilce, 
The  great!  Alcides. 

Theo.  Miseries  of  more  weight 
Tkan  'ti&  feign'd  they  supported)  fall  upon  roe# 
What  bath  my  rashnesS'doiie !  In  this  traasactioii,. 


904     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST, 

'  Drawn  in  express  and  formal  terms,  I  have 
Given  and  consign'd  into  your  hands,  to  use 
And  observe  as  you  please,  my  dear  Eudocia ! 
It  is  my  deed,  I  do  confess  it  is. 
And,  a3  I  am  myself,  not  to  be  cancell'd : 
But  yet  you  may  shew  mercy — and  you  will, 
When  you  consider  that  there  is  no  beauty 
So  perfect  in  a  creature,  but  is  soil'd 
With  some  unbeseeming  blemish.    You  have 

laboured 
To  build  me  up  a  complete  prince,  'tis  granted; 
Yet,  as  I  am  a  man,  like  other  monarchs 
I  have  defects  and  frailties:  my  facility 
To  send  petitioners  with  pleased  looks  from  me, 
Is  all  I  can  be  charged  witH ;  and  it  will 
*  Become  your  wisdom,  (since  'tis  in  your  power,) 
In  charity  to  provide  I  fall*  no  further 
Or  in  my  oath,  or  honour. 

Pul  tloyal  sir. 
This  was  the  mark  I  aim'd  at,  and  I  glory 
At  the  length,  you  so  conceive  it :  'twas  a  weak^ 

ness 
To  measure,  by  your  own  integrity, 
The  purposes  of  others.    I  have  shewn  you, 
In  a  true  mirror,  what  fruit  grows  upon 
The  tree  of  hoodwink'd  bounty,  and  what  dan^ 

gers 
Precipitation,  in  the  managing 
Your  great  affairs,  produceth. 

Theo.  I  embrace  it 
As  a  grave  advertisement,  and  vow  hereafter 
Never  to  sign  petitions  at  this  rate. 

PuL  For  mine,  see,  sir,  'tis  cancell'd ;  on  my 
knees 

^  I  fall  nofuTther]  Here,  as  in  seteral  other  places,  Mr.  M« 
Mason  substitates/ai7  for  /o//,  tkougfa  the  latter  be  manifestlj 
the  better  word,  and,  ivhat  is  of  more  importance,  the  author's^ 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.  1]  305 

1  re-deliver  what  I  now  begg*d  from  you. 

[Tears  the  deed. 
She  is  my  second  gift' 

Theo.  Which  if  I  pa,rt  from 
Till  death  divorce  us [Kisses  Eudocia. 

Eud.  So,  sir! 

Theo.  Nay,  sweet,  chide  not, 
I  am  punish'd  in  thy  looks  {  defer  the  rest. 
Till  we  are  more  private. 

Pul.  I  ask  pardon  too. 
If,  in  my  personated  passion,  I 
Appear'd  too  harsh  and  rough. 

Ilud.  'Twas  gentle  language, 
.What  I  was  then  consider'd.   . 

PuL  O,  dear  madam, 
It  was  decorum  in  the  scene. 

Eud.  This  trial, 
When  I  was  Athenais,  might  have  pass'd^ 
But  as  I  am  the  empress- 

Theo.  Nay,  no  anger. 
Since  all  good  was  intended. 

[Exeunt  Uteodosius,  Eudocia^  Arcadia^  and 
Flaccilla. 

Pul.  Building  on 
That  certain  base,  I  fear  not  what  can  follow. 

[Exit. 

Paul.  The&e  are  strange  devices,  Philanax^ 

Phil.  True,  my  lord. 
May  all  turn  to  the  best ! 

Grat.  The  emperor's  looks 
Promised  a  calm. 

Chry.  But  the  vex'd  empress'  frowns 
Presaged  a  second  storm. 

Paul.  I  am  sure  I  feel  one 
In  my  leg  already. 

7  She  U  my  second  gift^  i.  e.  (though  the  mode  of  expressioa  U 
Tether  incorrect^}  yhe  is  now  ghren  to  joa^  by  nie^  a  secmd  time. 


N 


\ 


\ 


S06     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

PhiL  Your  old  friend,  the  gout  ? 

F(wL  My  forced  companion,  Philanax. 

Chry.  To  your  rest. 

PauL  Rest,  and  forbear^g  wine,  with  a  tempe- 
rate diet, 
Though  many  mountebanks  pretend  the  cure  of 't,- 
I  have  found  my  best  physicians. 

P^'4  EA6e  to  your  lordship.  [Exeunt. 


^Ua.^..— — M— — I— —        *     ■       ■     ■     ■■■■    »«i»   ■■  ■ I    ^ ,  ,1  , ^ i,.,-—,^— i^ii^—ii^M^^^^ 

\ 

ACT  IV.    SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  Eudqcia  and  Ghrt3apiui. 

End.  Make  me  her  property  ! 

'Chry.  Your  majesty 
Hath  just  cause  of  distaste;  and  your  resentment 
Of  the  affront,  in  the  point  Qf  hoi^ouri  cannot 
But  ineet  a  fair  constructioQ. 

End,  I  have  only 
The  title  of  an  empress,  but  the  power 
Is  by  her  ravish'd  frono  oie :  she  surveys 
My  actions  as  a  governess,  4nd  calls 
My  not  observing  all  that  she  directs, 
Folly  and  disobedience. 

Chry.  Under  correction, 
With  gri^f  I've  long  observed  it;  wd,  if  you 
Stand  pleased  to  sign  jny  warrant,  TH  deliver, 
In  my  unfeigned  zeal  and  desire  tp  serve  yon, 
(However  I  run  the  hazard  of  my  bead  for% 
Should  it  arrive  at  the  knowledge  of  the  princess,) 
Not  alone  the  reasons  why  things  are  tbu3  carried, 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     307 

» 

But  give  into  your  hands  the  power  to  clip 
The  wings  of  her  command, 

Eud.  Your  service  this  way 
Cannot  offend  mp. 

Chrjf.  Be  yoq  pleased  to  know,  then. 
But  still  with  pardon,  if  I  am  too  bold. 
Your  too  much  suffei^ance  imps  the  broken  £^a^ 

thers 
Which  carry  her  to  this  proud  height,  in  whi^h 
She  with  s^urity  soars,  and  still  towers  o'er  ypu; 
But  if  you  would  employ  the  strengths  you  hpt4* 
In  thq  empieror's  affections,  j^nd  rememl^r 
The  orb  you  move  in  should  admit  up  star  eX^^ 
.  You  never  would  confess,  the  managing 
Of  state  affairs  to  her  alone  j^re  proper, 
And  you  sit  by,  a  looker  on* 

Eud.  I  would  not,    . 
If  it  were  possible  I  could  attempt 
Her  diminution,  without  ^  taint 
Of  foul  ingratitude  in  my^lf, 

Chry.  In  this 
The  sweetness  of  your  teipper  ^o^s  ^•bus^  ypu ; 
And  you  call  that  a  benefit  to  yourself, 
Which  she,  fpr  her  owu  ends,  ponfprr'd  i^po^y^iv 
TTis  yielded,  she  gave  way  to  your  ad  vaugea^f  jat  • 
But  fo|- what  cause  ?  that  she  might  still  poptiuuc 
Her  absolute  swsiy  and  «wing  o'er  thq  wh^)^  ^tfttf ; 
Aud,  that  she  might  to  her  f^mirera  Y«tU9t^ 
The  empress  was  her  creature,  and  the  giver  , 
To  be  preferred  before  the  gift. 

Eud.  It  may  be. 


'  But  if  you  would  employ  the  strengths  you  holdy  &c.]  For 
strengths  J  €oxeter  ajid  Mr.  M.  Mason,  as  I  ha?  e  already  •bsenred, 
constantly  read  strength;  which  bears  a  yery  different  meaning. 
Strengths  are  strong  holds,  fortresses^  commanding  positions^  &c. 
See  Vol.  II.  199. 


308    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Chrjf.  Nay,  'tis  most  certain :  whereas,  would 
you  please 
In  a  true  glass  to  look  upon  yourself. 
And  view,  without  detraction,  your  own  merits^ 
Which  all  men  wonder  at,  you  would  find  that 

fate, 
Without  a  second  cause,  appointed  you 
To  the  supremest  honour.     For  the  princess. 
She  hath  reign'd  long  enough,  and  her  remove 
Will  make  your  entrance  free  to  the  possession 
Of  what  you  were  born  to ;  and,  but  once  resolve 
To  build  upon  her  ruins,  leave  the  engines 
That  must  be  used  to  undermine  her  greatness, 
To  my  provision. 

Eud.  I  thank  your  care  : 
But  a  design  of  such  weight  must  not  be 
Rashly  determined  of;  it  will  exact 
A  long  and  serious  consultation  from  me. 
In  the  mean  time,  Chrysapius,  rest  assured 
I  live  your  thankful  mistress.  [Ejcit. 

Chry.  Is  this  all  ? 
Will  the  physic  that  I  minister'd  work  no  fur- 
ther? 
I  have  play'd  the  fool ;  and,  leaving  a  calm  port^ 
Embark'd  myself  on  a  rough  sea  of  danger. 
In  her  silence  li^s  my  safety,  which  how  can  I 
Hope  from  a  woman  ?  but  the  die  is  thrown, 
And 'I  must  stand  the  hazard.  \E^t. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EACT.     909 


SCENE  IL 

A  Space  before  the  JPalace. 

JEnter  Theodosius,  Philanax,  TiMANtus, 
Grat I AKvSy  and  Huntsmen. 

-  •         •  ... 

Theo.  Is  PsLiilinus 

So  tortured  with  his  gout? 

Phil.  Most  miserably. 
And  it  adds  much  to  his  afiliction,  that 
The  pain  denies  him  power  to  wait  upon 
Your  majesty. 

Theo.  I  pity  him :— he  is 
A  wondrous  honest  man,  and  what  he  sufFerSi 
I  know,  will  grieve  my  empress. 

Tim.  He,  indeed,  is 
Much  bound  to  her  gracious  favour. 

Tfieo.  He  deserves  it ; 
She  cannot  find  a  subject  upon  whom 
She  better  may  confer  it. — Is  the  stag 
Safe  lodged  ? 

Grot.  Yes,  sir,  and[  the  hounds  and  huntsm^ea 
ready. 

Phil.  He  will  make  you  royal  sport.    He  is  a 
deer 
Of  ten,*  at  the  least. 


He  is  a  deer 


Ofteny]  That  is,  a  deer  that  has  ten  branches  to  his  horns^ 
which  they  hare  at  three  years  old.    M.  Masok. 


VOL.  HI,  *  Y 


SIQ    THE  EMPEROll  OF  THE  EAST; 


Enter  a  Countryman  mth  an  apple. 

Grat.  Whither  will  this  clown  ? 

Jim.  Stand  back. 

Countr.  I  would  zee  the  emperor ;  why  should 
you  courtiers 
Scorn  a  poor  countryman?  we  zwcat  at  the  plough 
To  vill  your  mouths,  you  and  your  curs  might 

starve  else : 
We  prune  the  orchards,  and  you  cranch  the  fruit ; 
Yet  still  you're  snarling  at  us.  • 

Theo.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Countr.  I  would  look  on  thy  zweet  face. 

Tim.  Unmannerly  swain ! 

Countr.  Zwaln !  though  I  am  a  zwain,  I  have 
a  heart  yet, 
As  ready  to  do  service  for  my  leege,* 
As  any  princox  peacock  of  you  all. 
Zookers  !  had  I  one  of  you  zingle,  with  this  twfg 
I  would  so  veeze  you. 

Tim.  Will  your  m^esty 
Hear  his  rude  language  ? 

Theo.  Yes,  and  hold  it  ^s 
An  ornament,  UOT 'a  blemish.    O,  Timantus, 
Since  that  dread  Power  by  whom  we  are,  disdains 

not  ' 
With  ^n  open  ear  to  hear  petitions  from  ijs ; 

'  As  ready  to  do  service  for  wyleege,]  This  last  word  Coxeter 
blundered  into  hg:  Mr.  M.Mason  copies  bim,  but  sbrewdly 
•b8evr€8^4^  liege  is  the  word  intended  by  the  speaker,  but  I 
suppose  it  is  wiiM^f /#  m  purpose  /"  I  suppose,  m  my  turn,  that  this 
gentleman  is  a  singular  instance  of  criticizing  a  writer  without 
looking  at  him  !  of  editing  an  author  without  consulting  the  ori- 
ginal in  a  single  instance !  AH  the  copies  read  as  I  haye  giyen  it. 
In  the  next  line,  both  he  and  Coxeter  absurdly  separate  princox 
(or,  as  they  choose  to  write  it,  princock,  from  peacock^  t^ 
which  it  is  the  adjcclive.  "* 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     SI  J 

Eg$y  accesjs  ia  us,  his  deputies, 

To  the  meanest  of  pur  subjects,  is  a  debt 

Which  we  stand  bound  to  pay, 

Countr.  By  ray  graaani'9  ghost 
Tis  a  holesoine  zayingl   our  vicar  could  not 

mend  it 
In  the  pulpit  on  a  3unda,y. 

Theo.  What's  thy  suit,  friend? 

C^fifitr.  ?ute  I  I  would  laugh  at  that   Let  the 
court  beg  from  thee, 
What  the  poor  country  gives  :,  I  bring  a  present 
To  thy  good  grace,  which  I  can  call  mine  own^ 
And  look  not,  like  these  g?iy  volk,  for  a  return 
Of  what  they  venture,  \  fjave  I  giv'n't  you  ?  ha ! . 

Chty.  A  perilous  knave. 

Countr.  Zee  here  a  dainty  apple, 

[Presents  the  apple. 
Of  mine  own  graffing ;  zweet  and  zound,  I  assure 
thee, 

Theo.  It  is  the  fairest  fruit  I  ever  saw. 
Those  gplden  apples  in  the  Hesperian  orchards. 
So  strangely  guarded'  by  th^  watchful  dragon, 
As  they  required  great  Hercules  to  get  them ; 
Or  those  with  which  Hippomenes  deceived 
Swift-footed  Atalanta,  when  I  look 
Oji  this,  deserve  no  wonder.     You  behold  i\ 
The  poor  man  and  his  present  with  contempt ; 
J  to  their  value  prize  both  :  he  that  could 
So  9.|d  weak  nature  by  his  care  .^nd  labour^ 
As  to  compel  a  crab-tree  stock  to  bear 
A  precious  fruit  of  this  large  size  and  beauty^ 
Would  by  his  industry  change  a  petty  village 
Into  a  populous  city,  and  from  that 

'  So  strangely  guarded  &c.]  Though  strangely  be  aomet^es 
miedbj  our  old  writers^iR  the  sense  here  required,  yet  Irthiak 
we  might  ventare  to  read.  So  atrongjly  guaried^^l  k^^^y  ^9^r 
erer,  made  no  change. 

*Y3 


Hilk     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EASf. 

Erect  a  flourishing  kingdom.     Give  the  fellow, 

For  an  iencouragement  to  his  future  labours, 

Ten  Attic  talents. 

Countr.  I  will  weary  heaven 
*With  my  prayers  for  your  majesty.  [Esii. 

Theo.  Philanax, 

From  me  present  this  rarity  to  the  rarest' 

And  best  of  women :  when  I  think  upon 

'The  boundless  happiness  that  from  her  flows  to  me, 

In  my  imagination  I  am  rapt 

Beyond  myself:  but  I  forget  our  hunting. 

To  the  forest,  for  the  exercise  of  my  body ; 

But  for  my  mind,  'tis  wholly  taken  up 

In  the  contemplation  of  her  matchless  virtues.  ' 

\^Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

A  Room  in  the  Palace. . 

Enter  Eudocia,  Pulcheria,   AabADiA,   and 

Flaccilla. 

End.  You  shall  know  there's  a  difference  be- 

,  tw«en  us. 
Pul.  There  was,  I  am  certain,  not  long  since, 
when  you 
Kneel'd  a  petitioner  to  me;  then  you  Were  happy 
To  be)near  my  feet;  and  do  you  hold  it,  now. 
As  a  disparagement,  that  I  side  you,  lady  ? 
Eud.  Since  you  respect  me  only  as  I  was, 
What  I  am  shall  be  remember'd. 

Pul.  Does  the  means 
I  practised,  to  give  good  and  saving  counsels 
To  the  emperor,  and  your  new-stamp'd  majesty^ 
'  Still  stick  in  your  stomach  ? 

tlud.  Tis  not  yet  digested,  v 


li 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     315 

In  troth  it  is  not.    Why,  good  governess, 
Though  you  are  held  for  a  grand  madam,  and 

yourself  , 

The  first  that  overprize  it,  I  ne'er  took 
Your  words  for  Delphian  oracles,  nor  your  actions, 
For  such  wonders  as  you  make  them :— there  is 

one, 
When  she  shall  see  her  time,  as  fit  and  ahle 
To  be  made  partner  of  the  emperor's  cares,  . 
As  your  wise  self,  and  may  with  justice  challenge 
A  nearer  interest, — ^You  have  done  your  visit. 
So,  when  you  please,  you  may  leave  me, 

JPul.  I'll  not  bandy 
Words  with  your  mightiness,  proud  one;  only 

this, 
You  carry  too  much  sail  for  your  small  bark^ 
And  that,  when  you  least  think  upon't,  may  sink 

you.  [Esit. 

Flac.  I  am  glad  she's  gone. 
Arcad.  I  fear'd  she  would  have  read 
A*  tedious  lecture  to  us. 

Enter  Phil  an  ax  with  thc^pple. 

Phil.  From  the  emperor, 
This  rare  fruit  to  the  rarest. 

Eud.  How,  my  lord ! 

PhiU  I  use  his  language,  madam;   and  that 
trust. 
Which  he  imposed  on  me,  discharged,  his  pleasure 
Commands  my  present  service.  [Exit. 

Eud.  Have  you  seen 
So  fair  an  apple  ? 

Flac.  Never* 

Arcad.  If  the  taste 
Answer  the  beauty. 

Eud.  Prettily  begg'd :— you  should  have  iU 


il4     "rtlE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EASt. 

But  that  you  eat  too  much  cold  ffuit,  and  that 
Changes  the  fresh  red  in  your  cheeks  to  paleness* 

£nter  a  Servant. 

I  have  other  dainties  for  vou :— You  come  from 
Pauliniis ;  how  is't  with  that  truly  noble, , 
^And  honest  lord,  my  witness  at  the  fount, 
In  a  word,  the  man  to  whose  bless'd  charity 
I  owe  my  greatness ?. Ho w  is't  with  him? 

Sero.  Sprightly 
In  his  mind  ;  but,  by  the  raging  of  his  gout, 
In  his  body  much  distemper'd ;  that  you  pleased 
To  inquire  his  health,  took  off  much  ftom  his 

pain,  ' 

His  glad  looks  did  confirm  it. 

Eud.  Do  his  doctors 
Give  him  no  hope  ? 

Sero.  Little ;  they  rather  fear, 
By  his  continual  burning,  that  he  stands 
In  danger  of  a  fever. 

Eud.  To  him  again,' 
And  tell  him,  that  I  heartily  wish  it  lay 
In  me  to  ease  him ;  and  from  me  deliver 
This  choice  fruit  to  him ;  yoii  may  say  to  tb&t, 
I  hope  it  will  prove  physical. 

Scrv.  The  good  lord 
Will  be  o'erjoy'd  with^the  favour* 

Eud.  He  deserves  more.  [Exeunt. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     815 


S.CENE   iV. 

A  Room  in  Paulinus'  House. 

Paulinus  discovered  in  a  Chair,  attended  by  a 

Surgeon, 

Surg.  I  have  done  as  much  as  art  caA  do,  to  stop 
The  violent  course  of  your  fit,  and  I  hope  you 

feel  it : 
How  does  your  honour  ? 

Paul.  At  some  ease,  I  thank  you ; 
I  would  you  could  assure  continuance  of  it, 
For  the  moiety  .of  my  fortune. 

Surg.  If  I  could  cure 
The  gout,  Hiy  lord,  without  the  philosopher's 

3tone 
1  should  soon  purchase,  it  being  a  disease 
In  poor  men  very  r&re,  and  in  the  rich 
The  cure  impossible*    Your  many  bounties 
Bid  me  prepare  you  for  a  certain  truth. 
And  to  natter  you  were  dishonest. 

Paul.  Your  plain  dealing ' 
Deserves  a  fee.^   Would  there  were  many  more 

such 
Of  your  profession  I-  Happy  are  poor  men  ! 
If  sick  with  the  excess  of  heat  or  cold, 
Caused  by  necessitous  labour,  not  loose  surfeits,— 


Would  there  toere  many  more-  such 


W  your  profession  Q  These  two  bemisticfas*  are  wholly  dropt 
4^  Mr.  M.  Miison,  who  readi^ 

Paul.  Your  plain  dealing 
Deserves  a  fee.    Happy  are  poor  men : 
{hough  the  lameness  of  the  metre  might  have  excited  a  suspicion 
•f  8om9  defect.    This  is  the  fifth  passage  omitted  hj  him  in  the 
Goj&pass  of  a  few  pages  I 


916     THE?  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EASTC 

They,  when  spare  diet,  or  kind  nature  fail 

To  perfect  their  recovery,  soon  arrive  at 

Their  rest  in  death :  but,  on  the  contrary,, 

The  great  and  noble  are  exposed  as  preys 

To  the  rapine  of  physicians ;  and  they, 

In  lingering  out  what  is  remediless, 

Aim  at  their  profit,  not  the  patient*s  health. 

A  thousand  trials  and  experiments 

Have  been  put  upon  me,  and  I  forced  to  pay  dear 

For  my  vexation ;  but  I  am  resolved 

(I  thank  your  honest  freedom)  to  be  made 

A  property  no  mdre  for  knaves  to  work  on.— 

Enter  Cleqn  with  a  parchment  roll. 

What  have  you  there  ? 

C/e.  The  triumphs  of  an  artsman 
O'er  all  infirmities,  made  authentical 
With  the  names  of  princes,  kings,  and  emperors,. 
That  were  his  patients. 
Paul.  Some  empiric. 

Cle.  It  may  be  so ;  but  he  swears,  within  three 
days 
He'll  grub  up  your  gout  by  the  roots,  and  makfcr 

you  able 
To  march  ten  leagues  a  day  in  complete  armour. 
Paul.  Impossible, 
Cle.  Or,  if  you  like  not  him — — 
Sur^.  Hear  him,  my  lord,  for  your  mirth ;  I 
will  take  order 
They  shall  not  wrong  you. 
Paul.  Usher  in  your  monster. 
Cle.  Heisathandt — March  up:  now  speak  for; 
yourself^ 


..  J 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EASaTE.     817 


'  Enter  Empiric.  .       . 

Emp.  I  come  not,  right  honouraBle,  to  your 
presence,  with  any  base  aiid  sordid  end  of  reward  j 
the  immortality  of  my  fame  is. the  white  I  shooi 
at :  the  charge  of  my  most  curious  and  costljr 
ingredients  frayed*,  amounting  to  some  seven- 
teen thousand  crowns — a  trifle  in  respect '  of 
health — writing  your  poble  name  in  my  cata- 
logue, I  shall  acknowledge  myself  amply  satis- 
fied. 

Surg.  I  believe  so.  . 

Emp.  For  your  own  sake,^  I  most  heartily  wish 
that  you  had  now  all  the  diseases^  maladies,  and 
infirmities  upon  you,  that  were  ever  rememberecf 
by  old  Galen,  Hippocrates,  or  the  later  and  more 
admired  Paracelsus. 
'    Paul.  For  your  good  wish,  I  thank  you  !         . 

Emp.  Take  me  with  you,  I  beseech  your  good 
lordship. — I  urged  it,  that  your  joy,  in  being 
Certainly  and  suddenly  freed  from  tnem,  may  be 
the  greater,  and  my  not-to-be-parallelled  skill 

'  ^  £mp.  For  yomr,  cwn  4ake^  &c.]  This  empiric  maj  be  con* 
sidered  as  Uie  fruitful  parent  ^  the  quack,  which,  for  the  two 
last  centuries,  has  poisoned  us  in  the  closet,  and  entertained 
us  on  the  stage  ;  a  proud  distinction  to  which  his  ignorance  and 
impudence  fully  entitle  him !  Paracelsus,  is  a  pleasant  anachro- 
nism. 

J  doubt  whether  Massioger  erer  fell  into  Moliere'i  hands  i 
there  is,  howerer*  as  Mr*  Gilchrist  has  well  observed,  so  strik* 
jng  a  resemblance  between  a  passage  in  the  Malade  Tmaginaire 
sChd  this  before  us,  that  it  is  difficult  to  beliere  the  coincidence 
accidental ; 

Toinette.  Je  voudrois  que  vtms  eusiiez  t(mte$  les  maladies  queje 
viens  de  dire  ;  que  vousfiusiez  abandonni  de  toua  les  midecins^  distS' 
pfri^  d  ragonicy  pour  vous  montret  V  excellence  de  me$  remides^  et 
J^efivie  quefaurois  de  vous  rendre  service* 
.  Argan.  Je  vous  suis  obligi^  monsieur^  des  UmtU  que  vous  aoei 
fqurmQiykc,    Acte  III.  sc.  xiii*  .         .  ^f 


318     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

the  more  wmarkable.  The  cure  of  the  gout — a 
toy,  without  bos^st  be  it  said,  my  cradle-practice: 
The  cancer,  the  fistula,  the  dropsy,  consumption 
6f  lungs  aiid  kidneys,  hurts  in  the  brain,  heart, 
bt  Hyei*,  are  things  worthy  my  opposition ;  but 
in  the  recovery  of  my  patients  I  ever  overcome 
them.     But  to  yoiir  goiit^-*-^ 

Paul.  Ay,  marry,  sir,  that  cured,  I  shall  be 
apter 
To  give  credit  to  the  rest. 

Emp.  Suppose  it  dotie,  sir. 

Surg.  And  the  means  you  use,  I  beseech  you  ? 

Emp.  I  will  do  it  in  the  plainest  'language,  and 
discover  my  ingredietits.  First,  *my  boteni  terS' 
^/nMm^iOf  Cypris,*mymanha,  roscoslo,  coagulated 
tvith  vetUlos  ovorufrif  vulgarly  yolks  of  eggs,  with 
m  little  cyath  or  quaiitity  of  in^  potable  elixir, 
with  «ome  few  scruples  of  sassafras  and  guiacum, 
BO  taken  every  morning  and  evening,  in  the 
i^ict  of  thtee  days  purgcthi  cleanscth,  and  dis- 
sipateth  the  iliward  causes  of  the  virulent  tumor. 

JPduL  Why  do  you  smile  ? 

Surg.  When  he  hath  done  I  will  rfesolve  you. 
.  Emp.  For  my  exterior  applications,  I  have  thefse 
bftlsum  ^  unguentttlums,  extrsicted  from  herbs, 
Jilatiti^,  roots,  seeds,  gums,  and  a  million  of  other 
vegetables,  the  principal  of  which  are,  tllissipona^ 
or  serpentaria,  sophia,  or  herba  consolidarum^  pat^ 
th$nium,  or  commamHk  Rcmana^  mumia  transmarina, 
nrixed  with  my  plumbum  philosophorum,  and  mater' 
fhetallorumy  cum  ossa  paraleli,  est  universale  midica- 
mentum  in  podagra. 

Cie.  A  conjuring  balsamum ! 

r 

'  JFm#,  my  boteni  terebiBthlna  of  Gypris,  A^d.]  Ad  I  kild# 
not  what  degree  of  learning  tht  author  meaitt  to  gWe  this  itti^ 
postoTy  I  have  left  his  JArgon  as  I  found  it^  contenting  my  self 
with  correcting  the  Terbal  orerrights  0f  ih#  fonoer  e^ors* 


Tȣ  EMfEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     il9 

Ernp^  This  applied  warm  upon  the  pained  place, 
with  a  feather  of  struthio-camch",  or  a  bird  6f 
paradise,  which  is  every  where  to  be  had,  shall 
expulsethis  tartarous,  viscous,  anatheds,  and  ma« 
lignant  dotot*. 

Surgk  An  excellent  receipt!  but  does  your 
lordship 
Know  what  *tls  good  for  ? 

Paul.  I  should  be  instructed. 

Surg.  For  the  gonorrhoea,  or,  if  you  willhfearit 
In  a  plainer  phrase,  the  pox. 

Emp.  If  it  cure  his  lordship 
Of  that  by  the  way,  I  hope,  sir,  'tis  the  better. 
My  medicine  serves  for  all  things,  and  the  p6jt, 

sir, 
Though  falsely  named  the  sciatica,  or  gout, 
Is  the  more  catholic  sickness* 

Paul.  Hence  with  the  rascal ! 
Yet  hurt  him  not,  he  makes  me  smile,  and  that 
Frees  him  from  punishment.    \They  thrust  hmoff. 

Surgi  Such  slaves  as  this 
Render  our  art  contemptible. 

£7j/er  Servant  mih  the  applt. 

Sero.  My  good  Ibrd. 

Paul.  So  soon  return'd  ! 
•  Serv.  And  with  this  present  ftom 
Your  great  and  gracious  mistress,  with  her  wishes 
It  may  prove  physical  to  you. 

Paul.  In  my  heart 
I  kneel,  and  thank  her  bounty.  Dear  friend  Cleon, 
Give  him  the  cupboard  of  plate  in  the  next  room, 
For  a  reward. — [Exeunt  Cleon  and  Servant. \ — Most 

glorious  fruit !  but  made 
More  precious  by  her  grace  and  love  that  sent  it : 
To  touch  it  only,  coming  from  her  hand. 


S20     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Makes  me  forget  all  pain.    A  diamond 

Of  this  large  size,  (though  it  would  buy  a  king* 

dom,)    ^ 
Hewed  from  the  rock,  and  laid  down  at  my  feet, . 
l^ay,  though  a  monarch's  gift,  will  hold  no  value,. 
Compared  .with  this — and  yet,  ere  I  presume 
To  taste  it,  though,  sans  question,  it  is 
Some  heavenly  restorative,  I  in  duty 
Stand  bound  to  weigh  my  own  unworthiness. 
Ambrosia  is  food  only  for  the  gods. 
And'  not  by  human  lips  to  be  profaned. 
I  may  adore  it  as  some  holy  relic 
Derived  from  thence,  but  impious  to  keep  it 
In  piy  possession ;  the  emperor  only 
Is  worthy  to  enjoy  it, — 

Re-enter  Cleon. 

Go,  good  CI  eon, 
And  (cease  this  admiration  at  this  object,) 
From  me  present  this  to  my  royal  master, 
I  know  it  will  amaze  him  ;  and  excuse  me 
That  I  am  not  myself  the  bearer  of  it. 
That  I  should  be  lame  now,  when  with  wings  of 

duty 
I  should  fly  to  the  service  of  this  empress  I 
Nay,  no  delays,  good  Cleon* 

Ck.  I  am  gon^y  sin  [ExeunU 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     521 


SCENE  V. 

A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Th^odosius,  Chrysapius,  Timantus, 

a;2^GRATIANUS« 

t 

Chry.  Are  you  not  tired,  sir? 

Theo.  Tired  !  I  must  not  say  so,  , 

However,  though  I  rode  hard.    To  a  huntsman/ 
His  toil  is  his  delight,  and  to  complain 
Of  weariness,  would  shew  as  poorly  in  him 
As  if  a  general  should  grieve  for  a  wound 
Received  upon  his  forehead,  of  his  breast. 
After  a  glorious  victory.     Lay  hy 
These  accoutrements  for  the  chase. 

Enter  Pulchehia. 

-  Pul.  You  are  well  retuj:n'd,  sir, 
From  your  princely  exercise/ 

Theo.  Sister,  to  you 
I  owe  the  freedom,  and  the  use  of  all 
The  pleasures  I  enjoy :  your  care  provides 
for  my  security,  arid  the  burthen,  which 
I  should  alone  sustain,  you  undergo, 
And,  by  your  painful  watchings,  yield  my  sleeps 
Both  sound  and  sure.     How  happy  am  I  in    . 
Your  knowledge  of  the  art  of  government ! 
And,  credit  me,  I 'glory  to  behold  you 
Dispose  of  great  designs,  as  if  you  were* 
^  A  partner,  and  no  subject  of  my  empire. 

'    *  Dispose  of  great  designs^  as  if  you  xoere']  This  line,  too,  #hick 

,  ttiakes  sense  of  the  passage,,  is  wiiolly  omitted  by  Mr.  M.  MasiHu 

I  haye  no  pleasare  in  pointing  ont  ii\m%  perpetual  blundofs^ 


V 


y 


828     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST- 

Pm/.  My  vigilance,  since  it  hath  well  succeeded, 
I  am  confident  you  allow  of — yet  it  is  not 
Approved  by  all. 

Theo.  Who  dares  repine  at  that 
Which  hath  our  suffrage? 

FuL  One  that  too  well  knows 
The  strength  of  her  abilities  can  better 
My  weak  endeavours. 

Theo.  In  this  you  reflect 
Upon  my  empress  ? 

P«/.  True :  for,  as  she  is 
The  consort  of  your  bed,  'tis  fit  she  share  in 
Your  cares  and  absolute  power. 

7%0O.  You  touch  a  string 
That  sounds  but  harshly  to  me ;  and  L  must, 
In  a  brother's  love,  advise  you,  that  hereafter 
You  would  forbear  to  move  it :  since  she  is 
In  her  pure  self  a  harmony  of  such  sweetness. 
Composed  of  duty,  chaste  desires,  her  beauty 
(Though  it  might  tempt  a  hermit  from  his  beads) 
The  least  of  her  endowments.     I  am  sorry 
Her  holding  the  first  place,  since  that  the  second 
^  Is  proper  to  yourself,  calls  on  your  envy. 
She  err!  it  is  impossible  in  a  thought ; 
And  much  more  speak  or  do  what  may  ofifend  me. 
•  In  other  things  I  would  believe  you,  sistef ; 
But,  though  the  tongues  of  saints  and  augqls 

tax'd  her, 
Of  any  imperfection,  I  should  be 
Incredulous. 

PuL  She  is  yet  a  woman,  sir. 
Thto.  The  abstract  of  what's  excellent  in  the 
sex, 


Imt  H  is  impoasible  io  pa«  ^m  entirdy  over  i»  mi  editoi  who 
li^  daim  to  o«r  grttkodo  solely  qb  the  scort  <rf  ftU{i«ri«f  Wh 
curacy  and  atteytionl 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST-     3«S 

But  to  their  mulcts  and  frailties  a  niere  stranger  i 
ril  die  in  this  belief. 

Enter  Cleok  mtk  the  apph. 

Cle.  Your  humblest  servant,     - 
The  lord  Paulinus,  as  a  witness  of 
His  zeal  and  duty  to  your  majesty, 
Presents  you  with  this  jewel.    > 

Theo.  Ha! 

Cle.  It  is 
Preferred  by  him r     . 

Theo^  Above  his  honour  ? 

Cle.  No,  sir; 
I  would  have  sai4  his  patrimony. 

Theo.  'Tis  the  same. 

-^Ck.  Andhe  entreats,  since  lameness  may  excuse 
His  hot  presenting  it  himself,  from  me 
(Thougli  f4r  unworthy  to  supply  his  place) 
You  would  vouchsafe  to  accept  it. 

Theo.  Further  off, 
Yoi}*ve  told  your  tale.    Stay  you  for  a  reward  ? 
Take  that.  [Strikes  km. 

PuL  How's  this  ? 

Chri/.  I  never  saw  him  moved  thus. , 

Theo.  We  must  not  part  so,  sir :— a  guard  Bpo» 
him ! 

Enter  Guard. 

May  I  not  vent  my  sorrows  in  the  air, 
Without  discovery  ?  Forbear  the  room  ! 

[Exeunt  Pul.  Chry,Tim.  Grat.  and  Guard  with  Cle. 
Yet  be  within  call — What  an  earthquake  I  feel  iu 

me!     ' 
And  on  the  sudden  my  whole  fabrie  totters. 
My|blood  within  me  turns,  and  through  my  yeiiis^ 
Parting  with  natural  redness,  I  discern  it 
Changed  to  a  fatal  yellow.    What  an  army 


9S4     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST; 

Of  hellish  faries^  in  the  horrid  shapes 

Of  doubts  and  fears,  charge  on  me  !  rise  to  my 

'    rescue, 
Thou  stout  maintainer  of  a  chaste  wife's  honour^ 
The  confidence  of  her  virtues ;  be  not  shaken 
With  the  wind  of  vain  surmises,  much  less  suffer 
The  devil  Jealousy  to  whisper  to  me 
My  curious  observation  of  that 
I  must  no  more  remember.    Will't  not  be  ? 
Thou  uninvited  guest,  ill-manner'd  monster, 
I  charge  thee,  leave  me !  wilt  thou  force  me  to 
Give  fuel  to  that  fire  \  would  put  out  ? 
The  goodness  of  my  memory  proves  my  mischief, 
Andvl  would  sell  my  empire,  could  it  purchase 
The  dull  art  of  forgetfulness/ — Who  waits  there  ? 


^  To  accoaht  for  this  paroxysm  of  jealons  farj  in  Thcodosias, 
we  must  call  to  mind  that  the  aBpients  attached  >  a  certain  de* 
gree  of  mystical  consequence  to  the  presentation  of  an  ap/?/e ; 
which  thej  unirersally  agreed  to  consider  as  a  tacit  confession 
of  passion  accepted  and  returned.  In  Peacham's  Nuptial 
Hf/mnetj  which  Massiager  had  probably  read,  it  is  sud ;-— ^^tfaat 
apples  were  an  intercession,  oft,  for  love,  if  you  hare  read  any 
thing  in  old  poets,  you  must  know:  and  that  they  are  proper 
for  Venus  to  gire,  Claudian's  Roscida  lotti  mala  legunt  donum 
Venerisj  is  testimonie."^  Catuilns  has  some  beautiful  lines  on  the 
subject : 

Ut  missum  sponsifurtivo  munere  malum    * 

Procurrit  casta  virginu  ^  gremioj 
Quod  miserct  oblita  molU  sub  veste  locatum$ 

Dum  adventu  mqtris  prosiUfp  excutitur^ 
Atqu€  illud  protto  prceceps  agitur  decursu  : 

Huic  manat  tristi  conscius  ore  rubor.    Car*  Ixiii. 

Upon  which  Vossius  observes,  with  a  reference  to  the  imme« 
diate  subject  of  this  scene :  Mala  dmantium  semper  Juissemunerdf 
et  obscoaiam  continere  significatiomvn^  satis  vel  ex primo  patet  CatuUi 
epigrarnmatCf  et  multa  satis  de  his  colligerunt  viri  doctim  Necflo' 
rentikusy  tantum  Grecim  et  Romance  rebus ,  sedet  collapsa  utrommqutf 
fortuna^  eandem  permanisse  significationemf  satis  docel  exemplUin 
Paulini  interempti  propter  pomum  missum  ab  Eudocia  imperatricef 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     325 


iJ€-c«/er  Tl  M  AN  T  u  s. 

t 

Tiwjt  Most  sacred  sir— 

Theo.  Sacred,'  as  'tis  accurs'd, 
Is  proper  to  me.    Sirrah,  upon  your  life. 
Without  a  word  concerning  this,  pommand 
Eudocia  to  come  to  me.  [Exit  Jtm.'\  Would  I  had 
Ne'er  known  her  by  that  name,  my  mother's  name, 
Or  that,  for  her  own  sake,  she  had  continued 
Poor  Athenais  still ! — No  intermission ! 
Wilt  thou  so  soon  torment  me  ?  must  I  read, 
Writ  in  the  table  of  my  memory, 
To  warrant  my  suspicion,  how  Paulinus 
(Though  ever  thought  a  man  averse  to  women) 
First  gave  her  entertainment,  made. her  way 
For  audience  to  my  sister? — then  I^id 

deqm  vide  Chroni9oh  Alexandrinum,  et  complures  kiatorict  scrip* 
tores.    Obsen  ad  C.  VaL  Catullum. 

Massinger,  therefore,  had  sufficient  authority  for  this  part  of 
his'Storj.  The  fact,  howerer,  is  prpperly  discredited  by  later 
and  more  judicious  writers,  who  hare  obserred  that  it  has  aU 
the  appearance  of  an  Eastern  fiction ;  and,  indeed,  an  adventure^ 
with  no  very  distant  resemblance  to  it,  is  found  in  the  Arabian 
Tales.  I  do  not  know  how  old  Burton  understood  this  part  of 
the  story ;  but  he  gives^it  thus,  in  a  passage  extracted  for  me  by 
Mr,  Gilchrist :  ^'  Theodosius  the  Emperor,  gave  his  wife  Eu- 
'^  docia  a  golden  apple,  when  he  was  a  suitor  to  her,  which  she 
^^  long  after  bestowed  upon  a  young  gallant  in  the  court,  of  her 
f ^  especial  acquaintance.  The  emperor  espying  this  apple  in 
^^  his  hand,  suipected  forthwith',  more  than  was,  his  wires  dis« 
*^  honesty,  banished  him  the  court,  and  froin  that  day  follow- 
**  ing,  forbare  to  accompany  her  any  more.'* — 

Anat.  of  Mel.  fol.  p.  610, 

*  Sacratm^  in  Latin,  means  accursed;  to  this  Theodosius 
alludes,  when  he  says  that  Sacredy  as  it  is  accursed^  is  proper  to 
him.    M.  Mason. 

I  recollect  no  instance  of  this  sense  of  sacratus :  it  was  to 
sacer  that  Theodosius  alluded;  and  so  perhaps  did  Mr.  M. 
Mason,  if  he  had  kndwn  it. 

YOU  IIU  ^  Z 


326     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Myself  observe  how  he  was  ravish'd  with 

The  gracious  delivery  of  her  story, 

Which  was,  I  grant,  the  bait  that  first  took  me^ 

too : — 
She  was  his  convert ;  what  the  rhetoric  wafs 
He  used,  I  know  not ;  and,  since  she  was  mine, 
In  private  as  in  public  what  a  mass 
Of  grace  and  favour  hath  she  heap'd  upon  him  ! 
And,  but  to  day,  this  fatal  fruit — She's  come. 

Re-enter  Timantus  with  Eudocia,  Flacilla, 

and  Arcadia. 

Can  she  be  guilty  ? 

Eud.  You  seem  troubled,  sir; 
My  innocence  makes  me  bold  to  ask  the  cause, 
That  I  may  ease  you  of  it.    No  salute, 
After  four  long  hours*  absence  ! 

Theo.  Prithee,  forgive  me. —  [Kisses  her. 

Methinks  I  findTaulinus  on  her  lips, 
And  the  fresh  nectar  that  I  drew  from  thence 
Is  on  the  sudden  pall'd. — How  have  you  spent 
Your  hours  since  I  last  saw  you  ? 

Eud.  In  the  converse 
Of  your  sweet  sisters. 

Theo.  Did  not  Philanax, 
From  me  deliver  you  an  apple  r 

Eud.  Yes,  sir; 
Heaven,  how  you  frown  !  pray  you,  talk  of  some- 
thing else, 
Think  not  of  such  a  trifle. 

Theo.  How,  a  trifle  ! 
Does  any  toy  from  me  presented  to  you, 
Deserve  to  be  so  slighted  ?  do  you  value 
What's  sent,  and  not  the  sender  ?  from  a  peasant 
It  had  deserved  your  thanks. 


* 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.      337 

Eud.  And  meets  from  you,  sir^ 
All  possible  respect. 

Theo.  T  prized  it,  Isidy, 
At  a  higher  rate  than  you  believe ;  and  would  not 
Have  parted  with  it,  but  to  one  I  drd 
Prefer  before  myself. 

Eud.  It  was,  indeed, 
The  fairest  that  I  ever  saw. 

Theo.  It  was ; 
And  it  had  virtues  in  it,  my  Eudocia, 
Not  visible  to  the  eye. 

Eud.  It  may  be  so,  sir. 

Theo.  What  did  you  with  it  ? — tell  me  punc- 
tually ; 
I  look  for  a  strict  accompt. 

Eud*  What  shall  I  answer?  {Aside. 

Theo.  Do  you  stagger  ?  Ha ! 

Eud.  No,  sir ;  I  have  eaten  it 
It  had  the  pieasant'st  •  taste ! — I  wonder  that 
You  found  it  not  in  my  breath. 

Theo.  I'faith,  I  did  not, 
And  it  was  wonderous  strange. 

•  Eud.  Pray  you,  try  again. 

Theo.  I  find  no  scent  oft  here :  you  play  with 
me; 
You  have  it  still? 

Eud.  By  your  sacred  life  and  fortune, 
An  oath  I  dare  not  break,  I  have  eaten  it. 

Theo.  Do  you  know  how  this  oath  binds  ? 

Eud.  Too  well,  to  break  it. 

Theo.  That  ever  man,  to  please   his,  brutish, 
sense, 
Should  slave  his  understanding  to  his  pasfsions, 
And,  taken  with  soon-fading  white  and  red, 

•  It  had  the  pleasant'st  taste  !]  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason 
read,  It  had  the  pleasant  taste^  which,  if  not  nonsense^  is  not 
Tery  fax  removed  from  it. 


328     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Deliver.up  his  credulous  ears  to  hear 
The  magic  of  a  Syren ;  and  from  these 
Believe  there  ever  was,  is,  or  can  be, 
More  than  a  seeming  honesty  in  bad  woman ! 

Eud.  This  is  strange  language,  sir. 

Theo.  Who  waits  ?  Come  all. 

Re-enter  Pulcheria,  Philaxax,  Chbysapius, 

Gratianus,  and  Guard. 

Nay,  sister,  not  so  near^  being  of  the  sex, 
I  fear  you  are  infected  too. 

Pul.  What  mean  you  ? 

Theo.  To  shew  you  a  miracle,  a  prodigy 

Which  Afric, never  equall'd : Can  you  thiqk 

This  masterpiece  of  heaven,*  this  precious  vellum,  - 
Of  such  a  purity  and  virgin  whiteness, 
Could  be  design'd  to  have  perjury  and  whoredom. 
In  capital  letters,  writ. upon't? 

Pul.  Dear  sir. 

Theo.  Nay,  add  to  this,  an  impudence  beyond 
All  prostituted  boldness.     Art  not  dead  yet  ? 
Will  not  the  tempests  in  thy  conscience  rend  thjec 
As  small  as  atoms,  that  there  may  no  sign 
Be  left  thou  ever  wcrt  so  ?  wilt  thou  live 
Till  thou  art  blasted  with  the  dreadful  lightning 
Of  pregnant  and  unanswerable  proofs 
Of  thy  adulterous  twines  ?  die  yet,  that  I 
With  my  honour  may  conceal  it.  j 

Eud.  Would  long  since 


Can  you  think 


This  miuterpiece  ofketeoen^  &c,] 

^^  Was  this  fair  paper,  this  liiost  goodly  book, 
"  Made  to  write  whore,  upon  ?*'         Othello. 
There  are  several  other  short  passages  In  this  scene  copied  pr 
imitated  from  the  same  play ;  which^  as  sufficiently  obvious, 
I  have  forborn  to  nt^tice. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     3fi9 

The  Gorgon  of  your  rage  had  turned  me  marble ! 
Or,  if  I  have  offended 

Theo.  If ! good  angels  \ 

But  I  am  tame ;  look  on  this  dumb  accuser. 

[Shewing  the  apple: 

End.  Oh,  I  am  lost ! 

Theo.  Did  ever  cormorant 
Swallow  his  prey,  and  then  digest  it  whole, 
As  she  hath  done  this  apple  ?  Philanax, 
As  'tis,  from  me  presented  it ;  the  good  lady 
Swore  she  had  eaten  it ;  yet,  I  know  not  how, 
It  came  entire  unto  Paulinus'  hands, 
And  I  from  him  received  it,  sent  in  scorn, 
Upon  my  life,  to  give  me  a  close  touch 
That  he  was  weary  of  thee.     Was  there  nothing 
Left  thee  to  fee  him  to  give  satisfaction 
To  tl)y  insatiate  lust,  but  what  was  sent 
As  a  dear  favour  from  me  ?  How  have  I  sinn'd 
In  my  dotage  on  this  creature !  but*  to  her, 
I  have  lived  as  I  was  born,  a  perfect  virgin  : 
Nay,  more,  I  thought  it  not  enough  to  be 
True  to  her  bed,  but  that  I  must  feed  high. 
To  strengthen  my  abilities  to  cloy 
Her  ravenous  appetite,  little  suspecting 
She  would  desire  a  change. 

Eud.  1  never  did,  sir. 

Theo.  Be  dumb;  I  will  not  waste  my  breath 
in  taxing 
Thy  base  ingratitude.     How  I  have  raised  thee 
Will  by  the  world  be,  to  thy  shame,  spoke  often: 
But  for  that  ribald,  who  held  in  my  empire 
The  next  place  to  myself,  so  bound  unto  me 
By  all  the  ties  of  duty  and  allegiance, 


bat  to  her  J 


I'have  lived  as  I  tods  borfi^  &c.]  i.  e.  except.  See  p.  290 ;  the 
word  occurs  again,  in  this  seme,  in  p.  34^  and  in  many  other 
places.  ' 


330     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

He  shall  pay  dear  for't,  and  feel  what  it  is, 
In  a  wrong  of  such  high  consequence,  to  pulldown 
His  lord's  slow  anger  on  him  ! — Philanax, 
He's  troubled  with  the  gout,  let  him  be  cured 
With  a  violent  death,  aud  in  the  other  world 
Thank  his  physician. 

Phil.  His  cause  unheard,  sir? 

Pul.  Take  heed  of  rashness. 

Theo,  Is  what  I  command 
To  be  disputed  ? 

Phil.  Your  will  shall  be  done,  sir: 
But  that  I  am  the*  instrume'nt 

Theo.  Do  you  murmur?  {Exit  Phil  with  Guard. 
What  couldst  tfcou  say,  if  that  my  license  should   < 
Give  liberty  to  thy  tongue?  [Eudocia  kneeling, 
points  to  Theodosim'  sreord.]  thou  wouldst 
die  ?  I  am  not 
So  to  be  reconciled.     See  me  no  more : 
The  sting  of  conscience  ever  gnawrng  on  thee, 
A  long  life  be  thy  punishment  ^  [J5j^. 

Flac.  Q  sweet  lady, 
How  I  c#uld  weep  for  her ! 

Arcad,  Speak,  dear  madam,  speak. 
Your  tongue,  as  you  are  a  woman,  while  you  live 
Should  be  ever  moving,  at  the  least,  the  last  part 
That  stirs  about  you.  ^  ' 

PuL  Though  I  should,  sad  ladyy 
In  policy  rejoice,  you,  as  a  rival 
Of  my  greatness,  are  removed,  compassio^n, 
Since  I  believe  you  innocent,  commands  me 
To  mourn  your  fortune ;  credit  me,  I  will  urge 
All  arguments  I  can  allege  that  may 
Appease  the  emperor's  fury. 

Arcad.  I  will  grow  too. 
Upon  my  knqes,  unless  he  bid  me  rise, 
Aad  6wear  he  will  forgive  you* 


THE  EMPE^IOR  OF  THE  EAST.     331 

Flac.  And  repent  too : 
All  this  pother  for  an  apple  ! 

[Exeunt  Pulckeriay  Arcadia^  and  Flaccilla. 

Chry.  Hope,  dear  madam,     , 
And  yield  not  to  despair;  I  am  still  your  servant, 
And  never  will  forsake  you,  though  awhile 
Yoi^  leave  the  court  and  city,  and  give  wa}' 
To  the  violent  passions  of  the  emperor. 
Repentance,  in  his  want  of  you,  will  sgon  find  hiti^.: 
In  the  mean  time,  I'll  dispose  of  you,  and  omit 
No  opportunity  that  may  invite  him 
To  see* his  error. 

End.  Oh  !  [Wringing  her  hands. 

Chry.  Forbear,  for  beaven's  sake.       [Exeunt** 


ACT   V.      SCENE   I. 
A  Rqofn  in  Paulinus*  House. 

Enter  Philanax,  Paulinus,  Guard,  and  Exe^- 

cutioners. 

Paul.  This  is  most  barbarous !  h@w  have  you  lost 
All  feeling  of  humanity,  as  honour, 
In  your  consent  alone  to  have  me  used  thus  ? 
But  to  be,  as  you  are,  a  looker  on. 
Nay,  more,  a  principal  actor  in't,  (the  softness 
Of  your  former  life  considered,)  almost  turns  me 
Into  a  senseless  statue. 

Phil.  Would,  long  since, 
Death,  by  some  other  means,  had  made  you  one, 

*r  T^e  speechless  grief  of  Eudocia  in  this  scene  is  admirable. 
A  less  skilful  writer  would  haye  made ^ her  loqus^cious  in  her' 
own  defence.    Waldron. 


3S2     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

That  you  might  be  less  sensible  of  what 
You  have,  or  are  to  suffer  ! 

Paul.  Am  to  suffer ! 
Let  such,  whose  Jiappiness  and  heaven  depend 
Upon  their  present  being,  fear  to  part  with 
*  A  fort  they  cannot  long  hold ;  mine  to  me  is 
A  charge  that  I  am  weary  of,  all  defences 
By  pain  and  sickness  batter'd : — yet  take  heed. 
Take  heed,  lord  Philanax,  that,  for  private  spleen, 
Or  any  false-conceived  grudge  against  me, 
(Since  in  one  thought  of  wrong  to  you  I  am 
Sincerely  innocent,)  you  do  not  that 
My  royal  master  must  in  justice  punish. 
If  you  pass'  to  your  own  heart  thorough  mine ; 
The  murder,  as  it  will  com^  out,  discovered. 

PhiL  I  murder  you,  my  lord  !  heaven  witness 
for  me, 
With  the  restoring  of  your  health,  I  wish  you 
Long  life  and  happiness :  for  myself,  I  am 
Compell'd  to  put  m  execution  that 
Which  I  would  fly  from ;  *tis  the  emperor. 
The  high  incensed  emperor's  will,  commands 
What  1  must  see  perform'd. 

Paul.  The  emperor! 
Goodness  and  innocence  guard  me  !  wheels  nor 

Tacks 
Can  force  into  my  memory  the  remembrance 
Of  the  least  shadow  of  offence,  with  which 
I  ever  did  provoke  him*    Though  beloved, 
(And  yet  the  people's  love  is  short  and.  fatal,) 
I  never  courted  popular  applause, 
Feasted  the  men  of  action,  or  laboured 
By  prodigal  gifts  to  draw  the  needy  soldier, 

^  Ififou  pass  to  your  oion  heart  thorough  mine;]  Mr.M.  Mason 
inserts  so  before  yoa:  which  injiires  both  the  sense  and  the 
metre.   Was  he  not  aware  that  thorough,  or  thorow  as  the  quarta 
\  has  it,  is  a  dissyllable  ? 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     S3S 

The  tribunes,  or  centurions  to  a  faction, 
Of  which  I  would  rise  up  the  head  against  hitn« 
I  hold  no  place  of  strength,  fortress  or  castle^ 
In  my  comn\and,  that  can  give  sanctuary 
To  malecontentSy  or  countenance  rebellion. 
I  have  built  no  palaces  to  face  the  court, 
Nor  do  my  followers'  braveries  shame  his  train ; 
And  though  I  cannot  blame  my  fate. for  want, 
My  competent  means  of  life  deserve  no  envy ; 
In  what,  then,  am  I  dangerous  ? 

PfiiL  His  displeasure 
Reflects  on  none  of  those  particulars 
Which  you  have  mention'd,  though  some  jealous* 

princes 
In  a  subject  cannpt  brook  them.   • 

^Paul.  None  of  these  ! 
In  what,  then,  am  I  worthy  his  suspicion  ? 
But  it  may,  nay  it  must  be,  some  informer, 
To  whom  my  innocence  appear 'd  a  crime. 
Hath  poison'd  his  late,  good  opinion  of  me. 
*Tis  not  to  die,  but,  in  the  censure  of 
So  good  a  master,  guilty,  that  afflicts  me. 

PhiU  There  is  no  remedy. 

Paul.  No ! — I  have  a  friend  yet. 
To  whom  the  state  I  stand  in  now  delivered, 
(Could  thestrictness  of  your  warrant  give  way 

to  it,) 
That,  by  fair  intercession  for  me,  would 
So  far  prevail,  that,  my  defence  unheardi 
I  should  not,  innocent  or  guilty,  suffer  . 
Without  a  fit  distinction. 

Phil.  These  false  hopes. 
My  lord,  abuse  you.     What  man,  when  con<- 

demn'd. 
Did  ever  find  a  friend  ?  or  who  dares  lend 
An  eye  of  pity  to  that  star-cross'd  subject 
On  whom  his  sovereign  frowns  ? 


'S34     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST, 

Paul.  She  that  dares  plead 
For  innocence  without  a  fee,  the  empress^ 
My  great  and  gracious  mistress. 

Phil.  There's  your  error.  / 

Her  many  favours,  which  you  hoped  should  make 

you, 
Prove  your  undoing.     She,  poor  lady,  is 
Banish'd  for  ever  from  the  emperor's  presence, 
And  his  confirmed  suspicion,  to  his  wrong, 
That  you  have  been  over-familiar  with  her. 
Dooms  you  to  death.    I  know  you  understand  me. 

Pul.  Over-familiar ! 
*    Phil.  In  sharing  with  him 
Those  sweet  and  secret  pleasures  of  his  bed, 
Which  can  admit  no  partner. 

Paul.  And  is  that 
The  crime  for  which  I  am  to  die  ?  of  all 
My  numerous  sins,  was  there  not  one  of  weight 
£nough  to  sink  itie,  if  he  borrowed  not 
The  colour  of  a  guilt  I  never  saw. 
To  paint  my  innocence  in  a  deformed 
And  monstrous  shape  ?  but  that  it  were  profane 
To  argue  heaven  of  igjiorance  or  injustice, 
I  now  should  tax  it.     Had  the  stars  that  reign'd 
At  my  nativity  such  cursed  influence, 
As  not  alone  to  make  me  miserable. 
But,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  her  goodness  to  me, 
To  force  contagion  upon  a  lady. 
Whose  purer  flames  wer6  not  inferior 
To  theirs  when  they  shine  brightest !  todieforher, 
Compared  with  what  she  suffers,  is  a  trifle. 
Bv  her  example  warn'd,  let  all  great  women 
nereafter  throw  pride  and  contempt  on  such 
As  truely  serve  them,  since  a  retribution 
In  lawful  courtesies  is  now  styled  lust ; 
And  to  be  thankful  to  a  servant's  merits 
Is  grown  a  vice,  no  virtue. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     3SS 

Phil.  These  complaints 
Are  to  no  purposed  think  on  the  long  flight 
Year  better  part  must  make. 

Paul.  She  is  prepared  : 
Nor  can  the  freeing  of  an  innocent 
From  the  emperor's  furious  jealousy  hinder  hen 
— It  shall  out,  'tis  resolved ;  but  to  be  whisper'd 
To  you  alone.    What  a  solemn  preparation 
Is  made  here  to  put  forth  an  inch  of  taper,* 
In  itself  almost  extinguish'd !  mortal  poison! 
The  hangman's  sword  !  the  halter ! 

Phil.  'Tis  left  to  you 
To  make  choice  of  which  you  please. 

Paul.  Any  will  serve 
To  take  away  my  gout  and  life  together. 
I  would  not  have  the  emperor  imitate 
Rome's  monster,  Nero,  in  tba^t  cruel,  jnercy 
He  shew'd  to  Seneda.  When  you  have  discnarged 
What  you  arc  trusted  with,  ai^l  I  have  given  youv 
Reasons  beyond  all  doubt  or  dispu^tation, 
Of  the  empress'  and  my  innocep^e;  when  I  am 

dead, 
(Since  'tis  my  master's  pleasure,  and  h^gh  treason 
In  you  not  to  obey  it,)  I  conjure  you, 
By  the  hopes  yoni  have  of  happiness  hereafter, 
Since  mine  in  this  world  are  how  parting  from 

me. 
That  you  would  win  the  yQUQg  man  to  repentance 
Of  the  wrong  done  to  his  chaste  wifci  Eudocia.  ^ 
And  if  perchance  he  shed  a  tear  for  what 
In  his  rashness  be  imposed  on  his  true  serv^nt^ 
So  it  cure  him  of  future  jealousy, 
'Twill  prove  a  precious  balsamum^  and  find  me 
When  I  am  in  my  grave. — NoMT,  when  you  please; 
For  I  am  ready. 

4  to  put  forth  an  meh  ofttqter]  i.  e-  to  pi^  . 

wtt.   Forthy  for  out^  occurs  contiAQ^j  ia  oir  o)d  writers. 


SS6     THE  EMPEftOR  OF  THE  EAST. 

PhiL  His  words  work  strangely  on  mc. 
And  I  would  do— but  I  know  not  what  to  think 
on't.  [EjceunK 


SCENE    11. 

A  Room  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  Pulcheria,  Flaccilla,  Arcadia,  Ti- 

HANTUS^  GrATIANUS,  an(/ ChRTSAPIUS. 

PuL  Still  in  his  sullen  mood  ?  no  intermissioti 
Of  his  melancholy  fit  ? 

Tim.  It  rather,  madam, 
Increases^  than  grows  less. 

Grat.  In  the  next  room 
To  his  bedchamber  we  watched;  for  he,  by  signs. 
Gave  us  to  understand  he  would  admit 
Nor  comi)anv  nor  conference. 

Put.  Did  ne  take  ^ 

No  rest,  as  you  could  guess  ? 

Chry.  Not  any,  madam. 
Like  a  Numidian  lion,  by  the  cunning 
Of  the  desperate  huntsman  taken  in  a  toil,. 
And  forced  into  a  spacious  cage,  he  walks 
About  his  chamber ;  we  might  hear  him  gnash 
His  teeth  in  rage,  which  open'd,  hollow  groans 
And  murmurs  issued  from  his  lips,  like  winds 
Imprison'd  in  the  caverns  of  the  earth 
Striving  for  liberty ;  and  sometimes  throwing 
His  body  on  his  bed, '  then  on  the  ground, 
And  with  such  violence,  that  we  more  than  fear'd, 
And  still  do,  if  the  tempest  of  his  passions 
By  your  wisdom,  be  not  laid,  he  will  commit 
Some  outrage  on  himself. 

Put.  His  better  angel. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     337 

I  hope,  will  stay  him  from  so  foul  a  mischief; 
Nor  shall  my  care  be  wanting. 

Iim.  T>^ice  I  heard  him 
Say,  False  Eudocia^  how  much  art  thou 
Unworthy  of  these  tear ^!  thensigh'd,  and  straight 
Roar'd  out,  Paulinus  I  was  his  gouty  age 
To  be  preferred  before  my  strength  and  youth  f 
Then  groan'd  again,  so  many  ways  xCxpressing 
The  afflictions  of  a  tortured  soul,  that  we, 
Who  wept  in  vain  for  what  we  could  not  help, 
Were  sharers  in  his  sufferings. 

PuL  Though  your  sorrow 
Is  not  to  be  condemned,  it  takes  not  from 
The  burthen  of  his  miseries :  we  must  practise, 
With  some  fresh  object,  to  divert  his  thoughts 
From  that  they  are  wholly  fix'd  on. 

Chry.  Could  I  gain 
Tile  freedom  of  access,  I  would  present  him 
With  this  petition. — ^Will  your  highness  please 
To  look  upon  it :  you  will  soon  find  there 
What  my  mtents  and  hopes  are. 

Enter  Theodosius. 

Grat.  Ha !  'tis  he.  .        i 

PuL  Stand  close. 
And  give  way  to  fais  passions  ;  'tis  not  safe 
To  stop  them  in  their  violent  course,  before 
They  have  spent  themselves. 

Theo.  I  play  the  fool,  and  am 
Unequal*  to  myself;  delinquents  are 
To  suffer,  not  the  innocent.     I  have  done 
JNothing,  which  will  not  hold  "weight  in  the  scale 
Of  my  impartial  justice  ;  neither  feel  I 

The  worm  of  conscience  upbraiding  me 

•  »• 

'  Theo.  /]p%  thefooly  and  am 

Unequal  ^0  myself;}  i.  e.  unjust.    See  vol.  i.  p.  13*. 


338     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

For  one  black  deed  of  tyranny ;  wherefore,  then. 

Should  I  torment  myself?  GreatJulius  would  not 

Rest  satisfied  that  his  wife  was  free  from,  fact. 

But,  only  for  Suspicion  df  a  cringe, 

Sued  a  divorce  ;  nor  was'this  Romat\  rigour 

Censured  as  cruel :  and  still  the  wise  Italian, 

That  knows  the  honour  of  his  family 

Depends  upon  the  purity  of  his  bed, 

For  a  kiss,  nay,  wanton  look,  will  plough  up 

mischief. 
And  sow  the  seeds  of  his  revenge  in  blood. 
And  shall  I,  to  whose  power  the  law's  a  servant. 
That  ^tand  accountable  to  none,  for  what 
My  wJU  calls  an  offence,  beifig  cfompell'd, 
And  on  sifch  grounds,  to  raise  an  altar  to 
My  anger ;  though,  I  grant,  it  is  cemented 
With  a  loose  strumpet  and  adulterer's  gore. 
Repent  the  justice  of  my  fury?  No. 
I  should  not:  yet  still  my  excess  of  love. 
Fed  high  in  the  remembrance  of  her  choice 
And  sweet  embraces,  wotlild  persuade  me  that 
Connivence  or  remission  of  her  fault, 
Made  wa,rrantable  by  her  true  submission 
For  her  offence,  might  be  excusable. 
Did  not  the  cruelty  of  my  wounded  honour, 
With  an  open  mouth,  deny  it. 

Pul.  I  approve  of 
Your  good  intention,  and  I  hope  'twill  prosper. -r- 

[7b  thrysapius. 
He  now  seems  calm :  let  us,  upon  our  knees,  ^ 
Encompass  him.— Most  royal  sir 

\They  all  kneel:" 

Flac.  Sweet  brother 

Arccid.  As  you  are  our  sovereign,  by  the  ties 
of  nature 
You  are  bound  to  be  a  father  in  your  care  < 
To  us'poor  orphans. 


THE  EMPEROR  Of  THE  EAST.     339 

T^m.  Shew  compassion,  sir, 
Unto  yourself. 

Grat  The  majesty  of  your  fortune 
Should  fly  above  the  reach  of  grief. 

Chry.  And  'tis 
Impair'd,  if  you  yield  to  it. 

Theo.  Wherefore  pay  you 
This  adoration  to  a  sinful  creature  ?  * 
I  am  flesh  and  blood,  as  you  are,  sensible 
Of  heat  and  cold,  as  much  a  slave  unto 
The  tyranny  of  my  passions,  as  the  meanest 
Of  my  poor  subjects.    The  proud  attributes^ 
By  oil-tongued  flattery  imposed  upon  us, 
As  sacred,  glorious,  high,  invincible, 
The  deputy  of  heaven,  and  in  that 
Omnipotent,  with  all  false  titles  else, 
Coin'd  to  abuse  our  frailty,  though  compounded, 
And  by  the  breath  of  sycophants  applied. 
Cure  not  the  least  Gt  of  an  ague  in  lis. 
We  may  give  poor  men  riches,  confer  honours 
On  undeservers,  raise,  or  ruin  such 
As  are  beneath  us,  and,  with  this  pulPd  up, 
Ambition  would  persuade  us  to  forget 
That  we  are  men  :  but  He  that  sits  above  us. 
And  to  whom,  at  our  utmost  rate,  wc  are 
But  pageant  properties,  derides  our  .weakness: 
In  me,  to  whom  you  kneel,  'tis  most  apparent. 
Can  I  call  back  yesterday,  with  all  their  aids 
That  bow  unto  my  sceptre  ?  or  restore    . 
My  mind  to  that  tranquillity  arid  peace 


*  Theo.  Wherefore  pay  you 

This  adoration  to  a  sin/ul  creature  f]  In  this  fine  speech  Mas- 
singer  has  ventured  to  measure  weapons  with  Shakspeare,  and, 
if  I  may  trust  my  judgment,  not  ungracefully.  The  feelings, 
indeed,  are  more  interested  by  the  latter,  bat  that  arises  from 
the  sitaation  of  his  chief  character. 


1/ 


340     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

It  then  cnjoy'd  ? — Can  I'  make  Eudocia  chaste, 
Or  vile  Paulinas  honest? 

Pul  If  I  might 
Without  oifence,  deliver  my  opinion 

Theo^  What  would  you  say  ? 

Pul.  That,  on  my  soul,  the  empress 
Is  innocent. 

Chry.  The  good  Paulinus  guiltless. 

Grat.  And  this  should  yield  you  comfort. 

Theo.  In  being  guilty 
Of  an  offence  far,  far  transcending  that 
They  stand  condemned  for!  Call  you  this  a  com- 
fort? 
Suppose  it  could  be  true, — a  corsive*  rather, 
Not  to  eat  out  dead  flesh,  but  putrify 
What  yet  is  sound.     Was  murder  ever  held 
A  cure  for  jealousy  ?  or  the  crying  blood 
Of  innocence,  a  balm  to  take  away 
Her  festering  anguish  ?  As  you  do  desire 
I  should  not  do  a  justice  on  myself, 
Add  to  the  proofs  by  which  Paulinus  fell, 
And  not  take  from  them  ;  in  your  charity 
Sooner  believe  that  they  were  false,  than  I 
Unrighteous  in  my  judgment?  subjects*  lives 
Are  not  their  prince's  tennis-balls,  to  be  bandied 
In  sport  away :  all  that  I  can  endure 
For  them,  if  they  were  guilty,  is  an  ^tom 


7            ■    ■                 Can  I  make  Eudocia  chaste^  The  quarto 
has — Can  it  make*    For  the  pjresent  reading  J  am  answerable, 
s  Qf^ii  yo^  f]i^  ^  comfort  f 


Suppose  it  could  be  true^-^-Hi  corsife  rather ^ 
Not  to  eat  out  deadjiesh^  &c.l  Our  old  writers  used  corsive  or 
corrosive  indifferently,  as  it  suited  the  Terse ;  and  I  slu)uld  make 
no  difficulty  of  regulating  the  measure  accordingly,  in  defiance 
of  the  Ticious  spelling  of  the  early  copies.  In  the  next  line,  for 
— to  ezi  out,  which  was  the  phraseology  of  the  times,  and  per- 
fectly correct,  the  modern  editors  absurdly  read«^fo  eat  our 
.  deadjiesh/ 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EASt.     S41 

To  the  mountain  of  affliction  I  puU'd  on  mb, 
Should  they  prove  innocent. 
'  Chry.  For  your  majesty's  peace, 
I  more  than  hope  they  were  not :  the  false  oath 
Ta'en  by  the  empress,  and  for  which  she  can 
Plead  no  excuse,  convicted  her,  and  vields 
A  sure  defence  for  your  suspicion  of  ner. 
And  yet,   to  be  resolved,  since  strong  doubts 

are 
More  grievous,  for  the  most  part,  than  to  know 
A  certain  loss 

Thto.  Tis  true,  Chrysapius, 
Were  there  a  possible  means. 

Chry.  Tis  offered  to  ypu, 
If  you  please  to  embrace  it.     Some  few  minutes 
Make  truce  with  passion,  and  but  read,  and  follow 
What's  there  projected, — [Delivers  him  a  paper.} — 

you  shall  find  a  key 
Will  make  your  entrance  easy,  to  discover 
Her  secret  thoughts;     and    then,    as  in  your 

wisdom 
You  shall  think  fit,  you  may  determine  of  her; 
And  rest  confirmed,  whether  Faulinus  died 
A  villain  or  a  martyr. 

Theo.  It  may  do. 
Nay,  sure  it  must;  yet,  howsoever  it  fall; 
I  am  most  wretched.    Which  way  in  my  wishes 
I  should  •  fashion  the  event,  I'm  so  distracted 
I  cannot  yet  resolve  of.— Follow  me ; 
Though  in  my  name  all  names  are  comprehended, 


JVhich  isay  in  my  wishes 


I  shouldfashion  the  events  ]  Mr.  M.  Mascm  omits  should^  which 
reduces  the  passage  to  nonsense ;  but,  in  his  great  care  for  the 
purity  of  his  author's  language,  alters,  in  the  next  line,— re*o/ue 
of,  to  resolve  on!  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  his  anxiety 
should  appear  so  often  in  the  wrong  place* 

VOL.  III.  •  A  a 


542     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

I  must  have  witnesses  in  what  degree 
I  have  done  wrong,  or  sufFer'd. 

Pul  Hope  the  best,  sir.  \EMunU 

SCENE  in. 

Another  Room  in  the  same. 

Enter  Eudocia  in  sackcloth^  her  hair  loose. 

[Sings.]  JVhy  art  thou  slow^  thou  rest  of  trouble, 

Deathy 

To  stop  a  wretch's  breathy 
That  calls  on  theCy  and  offers  her  sad  heart 

A  prey  unto  thy  dart  ? 
I  am  nor  young  nor  fair  ;  be,  therefore^  bold: 

Sorrow  hath  made  me  oldy 
Deform' dy  and  wrinkled;  all  that  lean  cravCy 

Isy  quiet  in  my  grwceJ 
Such  as  live  happy y  hold  long  life  a  jewel; 

But  to  me  thou  art  cruely 
If  thou  end  not  my  tedious  misery; 

And  I  soon  cease  to  be. 
StrikCy  and  strike  home,  then  ;  pity  unto  me. 

In  one  short  hour's  delay,  is  tyranny. 

Thus,  like  a  dying  swan,  to  a  sad  tune 

I  sing  my  own  dirge ;  would  a  requiem  follow, 

Which  in  my  penitence  I  despair  not  of, 

(This  brittle  glass  of  life  already  broken 

With  misery,)  the  long  and  quiet  sleep 

Of  death  would  be  most  welcome! — ^Yet,  before 

We  end  our  pilgrimage,  'tis  fit  that  we 

Should  leave  corruption  and  foul  sins  behind  us. 

But  with  wash'd  feet  and  hands,  the  heathens 

dare  not 
Enter  their  profane  temples ;  and  for  me 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     343 

To  hope  my  passage  to  eternity 
Can  be  made  easy,  till  I  have  shook  ofF 
The  burthen  of  my  sins  in  free  confession, 
Aided  with  sorrow  and  repentance  for  them, 
Is  against  reason.    Tis  not  laying  by 
My  royal  ornaments,  or  putting  on 
This  garment  of  humility  and  contrition. 
The  throwing  dust  and  ashes  on  my  head, 
Long  fasts  to  tame  my  proud  flesh,  that  can  make 
Atonement  for  my  soul;  that  must  be  humbled, 
All  outward  signs  of  penitence  else  are  useless. 
Chrysapius  did  assure  me  he  would  bring  me 
A  holy  man,  from  whom  (having  discover'd 
My  secret  crying  sins)  I  might  receive 
Full  absolution — and  he  keeps  his  word. 

Enter  Theoj>osjvs  disguised  as  a  Fnar^  with 

Chrysapius. 

Welcome,  most  reverend  sir,  upon  my  knees 
I  entertain  you. 

Theo.  Noble  sir,  forbear 
The  place ;  the  sacred  office  that  I  come  for 

[Ejnt  Chrysapius. 
Commands  all  privacy.     My  penitent  daughter, 
Be  careful,  as  you  wish  remission  from  me, 
That,  in  confession  of  your  sins,  you  hide  not 
One  crime,  whose  ponderous  weight,  when  you 

would  make 
Your  flights  above  the  firmament,  may  sink  you. 
A  foolish  modesty  in  concealing  aught, 
Is  now  far  worse  than  impudence  to  profess 
And  justify  your  guilt,  be  therefore  free ; 
So  may  the  gates  of  mercy  open  to  you  ! 

Eud.  First  then,  I  ask  a  pardon,  for  my  being 
Jngrateful  to  heaven's  bounty. 

4heo.  A  good  entrance. 

*  A  a  3 


344     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Eud.    Greatness   comes    from   above^   and   I 
raised  to  it 
From  a  low  condition,  sinfully  forgot 
From  whence  it  came ;  and,  looking  on  myself 
In  the  false  glass  of  flattery,  I  received  it 
As  a  debt  due  to  my  beauty,  not  a  gift 
Or  favour  from  the  emperor. 
Theo,  *Twas  not  welU 

Eud.  Pride  waited  on  unthankfulness ;  and  no 
more 
Remembering  the  compassion  of  the  princess, 
And  the  means  she  used  to  make  me  what  I  was. 
Contested  with  her,  and  with  sore  eyes  seeing 
Her  greater  light  as  it  dimn'd  mine,  I  practised 
To  have  it  quite  put  out. 
Theo.  A  great  offence ; 
But,  OB  repentance,  not  unpardonable. 
Forward. 

Eud.  O,  father ! — what  I  now  must  utter, 
I  fear,  in  the  delivery  will  destroy  me, 
Before  you  have  absolved  me. 

Theo.  Heaven  is  gracious ; 
Out  with  it. 

Eud.  Heaven  commands  us  to  tell  truth, 
Yet  I,  most  sinful  wretch,  forswpre  myself. 
Theo.  On  what  occasion  ? 
Eud.  Quite  forgetting  that 
An  innocent  truth  can  never  stand  in  need 
Of  a  guilty  lie,  being  on  the  sudden  ask'd 
By  the  emperor,  my  husband,  for  an  apple 
Presented  by  him,  I  swore  I  had  eaten  it; 
When  my  grieved  conscience  too  well  knows  I 

sent  it 
To  comfort  sick  Paulinus,  being  a  man 
I  truly  loved  and  favour'd. 

Theo.  A  cold  sweat. 
Like  the  juice  of  hemlock,  bathes  me.      [Aside. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     345 

^ud.  And  from  this 
A  furious  jealousy  getting  possession 
Of  the  good  emperor's  heart,  in  his  rage  he  doomed 
The  innocent  lord  to  die;  my  perjury 
The  fatal  cause  of  murder. 

Theo.  Take  heed,  daughter, 
You  niggle*  not  with  your  conscience,  and  reli- 
gion. 
In  styling  him  an  innocent,  from  your  fear 
And  shame  to  accuse  yourself.    The  emperor 
Had  many  spies  upon  you,  saw  such  graces, 
Which  virtue  could  not  warrant,  shower'd  upon 

hini; 
Glances  in  public,  and  more  liberal  favours 
In  your  private  chamber-meetings,  making  way 
For  foul  adultery ;  nor  could  he  be 
But  sensible  of  the  compact  passed  between  you, 
To  the  ruin  of  his  honour. 

EucL  Hear  me,  father ; 
I  look'd  for  comfort,  but,  in  this,  you  come 
To  add  to  my  afflictions. 

Theo.  Cause  not  you 
Your  own  damnation,  in  concealing  that 
Which  may,  in  your  discovery,  fiad  forgiveness. 
Open  your  eyes ;  set  heaven  or  hell  before  you ; 
In  the  revealing  of  the  truth,  you  shall 
Prepare  a  palace  for  your  soul  to  dwell  in. 
Stored  with  celestial  blessings;  whereas,  if 
You  palliate  your  crime,  and  dare  beyond 
Playing  with  lightning,  in  concealing  it, 


■  The.  Take  heed,  daughter^ 

Tou  niggle  not  with  your  conscience^  i.  e.  trifiey  play^  with  it ; 
this  is  the  cant  sense  of  the  word :  its  proper  meaning  is,  to  de' 
ceire,  to  draw  out  sarreptitiously,  &c.  Thus,  in  the  Honest 
Whore,  Part  II.:  ^^  I  had  but  one  poor  pennj,  and  that  I  was 
glad  to  niggle  out,  and  buj  a  holly  wand  to  grace  him  through 
the  streets.'' 


34^    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Expect  a  dreadful  dungeon  filPd  with  horror, 
And  never-ending  torments. 

Eud.  May  they  fall 
Eternally  upon  me,  and  increase, 
When  tnat  which  we  call  Time  hath  lost  its 

name ! 
May  lightning  cleave  the  centre  of  the  earth, 
And  I  sink  quick,  before  you  have  absolved  me, 
Into  the  bottomless  abyss,  if  ever. 
In  one  unchaste  desire,  nay,  in  a  thought, 
I  wrong'd  the  honour  of  the  emperor's  bed  I 
I  do  deserve,  I  grant,  more  than  I  suiFer, 
In  that  my  fervour  and  desire  to  please  him, 
In  my  holy  meditations  pressed  upon  me. 
And  would  not  be  kept  out ;  now  to  dissemble, 
When  I  shall  suddenly  be  insensible 
Of  what  the  world  speaks  of  me,  were  mere 

madness : 
And,  though  you  are  incredulous,  I  presume. 
If,  as  I  kneel  now,  my. eyes  swollen  with  tears, 
My  hands  heaved  up  thus,  my  stretch'd  heart- 
strings ready 
To  break  asunder,  my  incensed  lord 
(His  storm  of  jealousy  blown  o'er)  should  hear 

me. 
He  would  believe  I  lied  not. 

Theo.  Rise,  and  see  him,       [Discovers  himself* 
On  his  knees,  with  joy  affirm  it. 
Eud.  Can  this  be  ? 

Thco.  My  sisters,  and  the  rest  there  !— All  bear 
witness, 

JSw/erPuLCHERiA,  Arcadia,  Flaccilla,  Csiet- 

SAPIUS,  TlMANTU.S,  ail£/FHILAKAX. 

In  freeing  this  incomparable  lady 
From  the  suspicion  of  guilty  I  do 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     S*7 

Accuse  myself,  and  willingly  submit 
To  any  penance  she  in  justice  shall 
Please  to  impose  upon  me. 

Eud.  Ro^al  sir. 
Your  ill  opinion  of  me*s  soon  forgiven, 

PuL  But  how  you  can  make  satisfaction  to 
The  poor  Paulinus,  he  being  dead,  in  reason 
You  must  conclude  impossible* 

Theo.  And  in  that 
I  am  most  miserable ;  the  ocean 
Of  joy,  which,  in  y  ourinnocence,  flow'd  high  to  me, 
iEbbs  in  the  thought  of  my  unjust  command, 
By  which  he  died.     O,  Philanax,  (as  thy  name 
Interpreted  speaks  thee,)  thou  hast  ever  been 
A  lover  of  the  king,  and  thy  whole  life 
Can  witness  thy  obedience  to  my  will. 
In  putting  that  in  execution  which 
Was  trusted  to  thee ;  say  but  yet  this  oricc, 
Thou  hast  not  done  what  rashly  I  commanded, 
And  that  Paulinus  lives,  and  thy  reward 
For  not  performing  that  which  I  enjoin'd  thee. 
Shall  centuple  whatever  yet  thy  duty 
Or  merit  challenged  from  me. 

Fhil.  'Tis  too  late,  sir ; 
He's  d«ad ;  and,  when  you  know  he  was  unable 
To  wrong  you  in  the  way  that  you  suspected, 
You'll  wish  it  had  been  otherwise, 

TAeo.  Unable  1 

Phil.  I  am  sure  he  was  an  eunuch,and  might  safely 
Lie  by  a  virgin's  side ;  at  four  years  made  one. 
Though,  to  hold  grace  with  ladies,  he  conceal'd  it.  ^ 
The  circumstances,  and  the  manner  how, 
You-  may  hear  at  better  leisure. 

Theo.  How,  an  eunuch ! 
The  more  the  proofs  are  that  are  brought  to  clear 

thee. 
My  best  Eudocia,  the  more  my  sorrows. 


548     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Eud.  That  I  am  innocent  ? 

Theo.  That  I  am  guilty 
Of  murder,  my  Eudocia.     I  will  build 
A  glorious  monument  to  his  memory ;     * 
And,  for  my  punisbmenti  live  and  die  upon  it^ 
And  never  more  converse  with  men.    >^ 

Enter  Paulinus. 

PauL  Live  long,  sir ! 
May  I  do  so  to  serve  you  !  and,  if  that 
I  live  does  not  displease  you,  you  owe  for  it 
To  this  good  lord. 

Theo.  Myself,  and  all  that's  mine. 

Phil.  Your  pardon  is  a  payment. 

Theo.  I  am  rapt 
With  joy  beyond  myself     Now,  my  Eudocia, 
My  jealousy  puff'd  away  thus,  in  this  breath 
I  scent  the  natural  sweetness.  [Kisses  herm 

Arcad.  Sacred  sir, 
I  am  happy  to  behold  this,  and  presuime, 
Now  you  are  pleased,  to  move  a  suit,  in  which 
My  sister  is  join'd  with  me.  ' 

Theo.  Prithee  speak  it ; 
For  I  have  vow'd  to  hear  before  I  grant  ;--* 
I  thank  your  good  instructions..     \To  Ptdaheria^ 

Arcad.  Tis  but  this,  sir: 
We  have  observed  the  falling  out  and  in 
Between  the  husband  and  the  wife  shew»  rarely ; 
Their  jars  and  reconcilements  strangely  take  us; 

Flac.  Anger  and  jealousy  that  conclude  inkisses^ 
Is  a  sw^et  war,  in  sooth. 

Arcad.  We  therefore,  brother, 
Most  humbly  beg  you  would  provide  us  husbands^ 
That  we  may  taste  the  pleasure  oft. 

Flac.  And  with  speed,  sir ; 
For  so  your  favour's  doubled. 


THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.     S4d 

Theo.  Take  my  word, 
I  will  with  all  convenience ;  and  not  blush 
Hereafter  to  be  guided  by  your  counsels :    ' 
I  will  deserve  your  pardon.     Fhilanax 
Shall  be  remember'd,  and  magnificent  bounties 
Fall  on  Chrysapius  ;  my  grace  on  all. 
Let  Cleon  be  delivered,  and  rewarded. 
My  grace  on  all,  which  as  I  lend  to  you^ 
Return  your  vows  to  heaven,  that  it  may  please, 
As  it  is  gracious,  to  quench  in  me 
All  future  sparks  of  burning  jealousy.    [Kvmnt. 


EPILOGUE. 

We  have  reason  to  be  doubtful^  whether  he, 
On  whom  (forced  to  it  from  necessity) 
The  maker  did  coffer  his  emperor* s  part. 
Hath  given  you  satisfactiony  in  his  art 
Cf  action  and  delivery  ;  Uis  sure  truth. 
The  burthen  was  too  heavy  for  his  youth 
To  undergo : — but,  in  his  will,  we  know, 
He  was  not  wanting,  and  shall  ever  (me^ 
With  his,  our  service,  if  your  favours  deign 
To  give  him  strength^  hereafter  to  sustain 
A  greater  weight.    It  is  your  grace  that  can 
In  your  allowance  of  this,  write  him  man 
Before  his  time;  which,  if  you  please  to  do, 
You  make  the  player  and  the  poet  too^ 

*  There  is  so  much  sterling  merit  in  several  of  the  incidents 
and  characters  of  this  Play,  that  the  reader  is  inclined  to  orer* 
look  the  want  of  unitj  in  the  storj  itself.    It  is  trne,  Massinger^ 
seems  to  hafe  been  conscious  of  this  defect,  and  has  endea-: 
Toured  to  remedy  it  by  contriving  an   early  introduction  of 
Athenais^  and  by'  gWing    her   some    slight    connexion  with 


350     THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

Paulinus ;  for  this  is  carefully  remembered  In  the  last  act,  ai 
one  of  the  circumstances  which  justify  the  jealousy  of  Theo^ 
dosius.  Bat  the  chief  and  characteristic  event  can  hardly  be 
said  to  begin  till  the  fourth  act.  Most  of  the  preceding  scenes 
are  a  series  of  conyersations  and  incidents,  rather  illustratiTe  of 
some  of  the  characters,  than  necessary  to  the  subject ;  previous 
in  the  order  of  history,  but  not  strictly  preparatory  to  the  plot ; 
more  occupied  with  the  public  influence  of  Pulcheria^  than  with 
the  private  affection  of  Eudocia. 

This  reservation  being  made,  we  cannot  but  admire  the 
genuine  dignity  with  which  the  gorernment  and  personal  virtues 
of  the  Protectress  are  announced ;  and  the  interesting  contrast 
of  the  beautiful  but  lighter  Athenais.  Theodosins  is  connected 
with  both :  and  is  described  with  much  fidelity  of  nature  in 
every  situation.  His  characteristic  quality  is  weakness.  His 
implicit  obedience  to  his  sister  daring  a  long  pupilage;  his 
escape  from  it  through  the  interested  persuasions  of  others ;  his 
facility,  profusion,  and  uxorious  subjection  to  Eudocia,  are  true 
marks  of  the  same  character.  Nor  are  they  contradicted  by  the 
Tehemence  into  which  he  falls  in  the  last  act.  Indeed,  during 
this  paroxysm  he  acts  with  a  power  apparently  beyond  himselfl 
He  accumulates  circumstances  of  jealousy  with  much  force  and 
quickness.  With  a  melancholy  ingenuity,  he  perverts  the  con- 
solations of  his  friends  into  new  proofs  of  his  guilt ;  and  he  com- 
pels the  most  intiocent  thoughts  of  others  to  wear,  the  stamp  of 
his  own  madness.  Still  this  is  the  Tehemence  of  Theodosius. 
His  fury  is  the  mere  effect  of  axoriousness  disappointed*  He  is 
enraged,  not  that  his  honour  is  tarnished,  (for  this  he  would 
fondly  overlook,)  but  that  he  has  lost  the  possession  of  Eudocia. 
It  is  the  Tcry  impotence  of  his  mind  which  lends  him  a  mo- 
mentary  yigour;  and  all  his  apparent  power  is  founded  on  his 
constitutional  failing.  In  the  confession  scene  he  quickly  loses 
his  assumed  character  in  the  anxious  husband;  and,  at  the 
assertion  of  her  innocence,  he  rushes  to  his  reconcilement  with 
an  eagerness  which  shews  his  true  disposition,  and  renews  all  the 
ascendancy  of  her  charms. 

It  is  to  be  wished  that  this  great  merit  were  not  accompanied 
with  serious  blemishes ;  but  sometimes  the  manners  of  Massin- 
ger's  age  are  thrust,  with  more  than  their  usual  ill  effect,  into 
the  history  of  Theodosius ;  and  sometimes  his  best  characters 
aire  needlessly  debased.  Pulcheria  falls  into  an  improper  dis- 
cussion of  modern  levities  with  the  Informer,  &c.  Her  sisters, 
contrary  to  the  history  of  their  time,  are  described  as  wanton, 
and  rebellious  against  her  authority:  nor  is  there  an  object 
for  this  change  of  character;  they  are  merely  degraded.    The 


tHE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST.      351 

Cottntrjman  equals  the  judgment  of  Theodosius  with  theSandaj* 
maxims  of  the  vicar  of  his  parish  ;  and  Theodosius  himself,  pure 
and  religious  as  Massinger  really,  meant  to  represent  him,  loses . 
his  delicacy  ;  and  when  he  has  to  choose  a  wife  from  the  por« 
traits  of  the  candidates,  enlarges  upon  their  properties  with  the 
licentiousness  of  an  experienced  debauche.  It  is  observable, 
that  in  one  part  of  this  scene  an  attention  to  the  court  bursts ' 
out.  Theodosius  is  impatient  that  he  must  judge  the  ^^  sub- 
stance" of  the  ladies  ''  by  the  shadow,"  and  demands  to  see 
them  ^^  with  his  own  eyes."  Perhaps  the  king  was  not  dis« 
pleased  at  the  compliment  bestowed  by  a  Greek  emperor  on  the 
notable  project  of  courting  the  Spanish  princess. 

A  word  must  be  added  concerning  the  sources  from  which 
Massingerjias  drawn  his  story.  Coxeter  briefly  informs*  us  that 
the  plot  is  taken  from  the  7th  book  of  Socrates,  and  the  5th  of 
Theodoret :  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  neither  confirms  nor  disproves 
this  intelligence.    But  what  is  the  plot  ?  Arcadia  truly  calls  it^ 

<«  "  the  falling  out  and  in 

**  Between  the  husband  and  the  wife '* 

and  of  the  quarrel  and  reconcilement  of  Theodosius  and 
Eudocia,  the  two  writers  referred  to  say  not  a  word!  It  is  not 
enough  that  they  mention  other  circumstances  of  Athenais,  and 
celebrate  the  virtues  of  Theodosius  and  his  sisters*  The  plot  is 
still  to  be  sought  for :  and  Sozomen,  the  other  principal  his. 
torian  of  that  age,  is  as  silent  as  the  authorities  of  Coxeter.  It 
will  only  beibund  in  the  later  chroniclers.  It  does  not  appear 
that  there  is  any  full  account  of  Athenais  earlier  than  the  tim« 
of  Malelas.  Her  love  for  Paulinus,  equally  handsome  and  elo« 
queot,  is  mentioned  by  Cedrenus ;  and  the  memorable  apple^ 
the  cause  of  his  death,  by  Theophanes.    Fabr.  Bibn  Gretc*  lib.  v. 

c.  1. 

•v. 

There  seems  to  be  some  confusion  in  the  dramatis  persona 
of  this,  as  well  as  of  a  former  historical  Play— Homan  Actor. — 
Flaccilla  is  mentioned  as  one  of  the  younger  sisters  of  Theo« 
dosius*  At  all  events  this  is  wrong.  Whatever  testimony  there 
is  for  her  existence,  makes  her  older  than  Pnlcheria.  But 
Sozomen,  who  names  the  ftst  of  the  family,  says  nothing  of  her. 
And  if  Phiiostorgius  is  to  be  believed,  there  was  no  sister  of 
that  name :  for,  in  his  account  of  the  disgrace  of  Eutropius,  ha 
marks  the  time,  by  observing,  that,  in  order  to  assist  her  com* 
plaint  with  Arcadius,  she  carried  with  her  the  two  children 
already  born,  (Pulcheria  and  Arcadia,)  and  that  Marina  and 
Theodosius  were  produced  after  that  event.  It  is  possible  that 
the  name  of  Marina,  omitted  by  Massinger  from  the  list  of  the 


35Sr    THE  EMPEROR  OF  THE  EAST. 

ifsteri,  ihay  htfjt  been  bestoired  on  the  waitingwoman  of 
Palcberia.  If  so,  it  will  rectify  tlie  confusion  noticed  by  the 
editor.  Act  II.  sc,  1.  The  ^^  reverend  aunt,  Maria,*'  who  assists 
at  the  baptism  of  Athenais,  was  perhaps  the  wife  of  Honoriusy 
•elebrated  by  Claudian. 

In  tcttui  labor  


THE 


FATAL    DOWRY. 


The  Fatal  Dowry.]  This  most  excellent  Tragedy  does  not 
appear  to  hate  been  licensed  by  sir  H.  Herbert;  nor  is  it  ac- 
companied by  any  prologue  or  epilogue;  circumstances  from 
which  Mr.  Malone  concludes  that  it  was  produced  previous  to 
1620.  Howerer  this  be,  it  was  not  printed  till  1632,  before 
which  time,  the  title-page  says,  it  ^*  had  been  often  acted  at  thfi 
prirate  house  in  Blackfriars,  by  his  Majesty's  serrants." 

Massinger  was  assisted  in  the  writing  of  it  by  Nathaniel  Field 
(of  whom  some  mention  is  made  in  the  Introduction).  This 
would  incline  me  to  adopt  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Malone;  for  the 
author  seems  to  hare  trusted  to  his  own  resources  after  the 
period  here  mentioned  ;  all  the  pieces  licensed  by  the  master  of 
the  rcTcls  being  his  own  composition. 

From  this  Play  Rowe  borrowed,  or,  according  to  Cicero's 
distinction,  stole,  the  plan  of  t/te  /air  Penitent^  a  performance 
by  which  he  is  now  chiefly  known.  The  relatire  merits  of  the 
two  pieces  are  discussed  by  Mr.  Cumberland,  in  the  ingenious 
analysis  which  follows  the  present  Tragedy ;  and  which  I  regret 
that  he  did  not  pursue  to  the  conclusion,  as  the  superiority  of 
Massinger  would  ha?e  been  still  more  apparent. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 

Rochforti  ex^prender  president  of  the  parliament  of 

Dijon. 
Charalois,  a  noble  gentleman^  son  to  the  deceased 

marshal. 
Romont,  a  bra^e  officer ^  friend  to  Charalois. 
No  vail  senior^  premier  president  of  the  parliament  of 

Dijon. 
Novall  junior,  his  son,  in  love  with  Beaumelle. 
Du  Croy,  president  of  the  parliament  if  Dijon. 
Charm  i,  an  advocate. 
Beaumont,  secretary  to  Rochfort 

Mdodn ''  ]/^'^«^*-?^  Novall>mor. 

Xiladami  a  parasite,  dependent  on  ^oy  dill  junior. 
Aymer,  a  singer,  and  keeper  of  a  music-house,  als%^ 

dependent  on  Novall  jtinion 
Advocates. 
Three  creditors. 
A  Priest. 
Tailor. 
Barber. 
Perfumer. 
Page. 

Beaumelle,  daughter  to  Rochfort 

Florimel,  \servants  to  fieaumelle;  the  latter  the 

Bellapert,  j      secret  agent  of  Novall  junior. 

Presidents^  Captains,  Soldiers,  Mourners,  Gaoler, 

Bailiffs,  Servants. 

SCENE,  Dijon. 


THE 


FATAL     DOWRY. 


ACT  I.    SCENE    L 

A  Street  before  the  Court  of  Justice. 

Enter  Charalois  with  a  paper,   Romont^  and 

CUARMI. 

Char.  Sir,  I  may  move  the  court  to  serve  your 
will; 
But  therein  shall  both  wrong  you  and  myself. 

Rom.  Why  think  you  so,  sir  ? 

Char.  'Cause  I  am  familiar 
With  what  will  be  their  answer:  they  will  say, 
^Tis  against  law;  and  argue  me  of  ignorance, 
For  offering  them  the  motion. 

Rom.  You  know  not,  sir, 
How,  in  this  cause,  they  may  dispense  with  law ; 
And  therefore  frame  not  you  their  answer  for 

them, 
But  do  your  parts. 

Char.  I  love  the  cause  so  well, 
As*  I  could  run  the  hazard  of  a  check  for't. 

Rom.  From  whom  ? 

Char.  Some  of  the  bench,  that  watch  to  give  it, 

"*  As  I  could  run  Sec.']  Former  cdRors— That  I  could  run.  1 
do  not  love  this  modernising :  by  degrees  no  one  will  be  allowed 
to  speak  the  language  of  his  age. 

VOL.  III.  •  B  b 


358  THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

More  than  to  do  the  office  that  they  sit  for : 
But  give  me,  sir,  my  fee. 

Rom.  Now  you  are  noble.   [Gwes  him  his purse^ 

Char.  I  shall  deserve  this  better  yet,  in  giving 
My  lord  some  counsel,  if  he  please  to  hear  it, 
Than  I  shall  do  with  pleading. 

Rom.  What  may  it  be,  sir? 

Char.  That  it  would  please  his  lordship,  as  the 
presidents 
And  counsellors  of  court  come  bv,  to  stand 
Here,  and  but  shew  himself,"  and  to  some  one 
Or  two,  make  his  request :— -there  is  a  minute, 
When  a  man's  presence  speaks  in  his  own  cause, 
More  than  the  tongues  of  twenty  advocates. 

Rom.  I  have  urged  that. 

Enter  Rochfort  and  Do  Crot. 

Char.  Their  lordships  here  are  coming, 
I  must  go  get  me  a  place.  You'll  find  me  in  court, 
And  at  your  service.  [^Exit. 

Rom.  Now,  put  on  ^  your  spirits. 

Du  Croy.  The  ease  that  you  prepare  yourself, 
my  lord, 
In  giving  up  the  place  you  hold  in  court, 
Will  prove,  I  fear,  a  trouble  in  the  state, 
And  that  no  slight  one. 

Roch.  Pray  you,  sir,  no  more, 

Rom.  Now,  sir,  lose  not  this  ofFer'd  means : 
their  looks, 
Fix'd  on  you  with  a  pitying  earnestness, 
Invite^you  to  demand  their  furtherance 

*  Here^  and  hut  shew  himself,]  This  has  been  hitherto  printed 
shew  yowself.  The  necessity  of  the  alteration  will,  I  trust,  ;be 
readily  acknowledged. 

3  Rom.  Now^  put  on  your  ipirits^  RousCf  animate  them.  See 
ToL  L  p.  301. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         SS9 

Tb  your  good  purpose :— this  such  a  dulness, 

So  foolish  and  untimely,  as ► 

Du  Croy.  You  know  him  ? 
Roch.  I  do ;  and  much  lament  the  sudden  fall 
Of  his  brave  house.     It  is  young  Charalois, 
Son  to  the  marshal,  from  whom  he  inherits 
His  fame  and  virtues  only. 
Rom.  Ha  !  they  name  you^ 
Du  Cro^k  His  father  died  in  prison  two  days 

sinccv 
Itoch.  Yes,  to  the  shame  of  this  ungrateful  state; 
That  such  a  master  in  the  art  of  war> 
So  noble,  and  so  highly  meriting 
From  this  forgetful  country,  should,  for  want 
Of  means  to  satisfy  his  creditors 
The  Bums  he  took  up  for  the  general  good> 
Meet  with  an  end  so  infamous. 

Rom.  Dare  you  ever 
Hope  for  like  opj^ortumity  ? 
I)u  Croy.  My  good  lord ! 

[Tkey  salute  him  as  they  pas^  by. 
Roch.  My  wish  bring  comfort  to  you  ! 
Du  Croy.  The  time  calls  us. 
Roch.  Good  morrow,  colonel  1 

[Esmnt  Rochfort  and  Du  Croy. 
^Rom.  This  obstinate  spleen, 
You  think,  becomes  your  sorrow,  and  sorts  well 
With  your  black  suits  j   but,  grant  me  wit  or 

judgment^ 
And,  by  the  freedom  of  an  honest  man, 
And  a  true  friend  to  boot,  I  swear  'ti«  shameful. 
And  therefore  flatter  not  yourself  with  hope. 
Your  sable  habit,  with  the  hat  and  cloak. 
No,  though  the  ribands  help,  have  power  to  work 

them 
To  what  you  would  :  for  those  that  bad  no  eyes 

♦Bb2 


$60         THE  FATAL  DO  WRY. 

To  set  the  great  acts  of  your  father,  will  not,  • 
From  any-  fashion  sorrow  can  put  on, 
Be  taught  to  know  their  duties. 

Charal.  If  they  will  not, 
They  are  too  old  to  learn,  and  I  too  young 
To  give  them  counsel ;  since,  if  they  partake 
The  understanding  and  the  hearts  of  men, 
They  will  prevent  my  words  and  te^rs  :  if  not. 
What  can  persuasion,  though  made  eloquent 
With  grief,   work  upon  such  as  have  changed 

natures 
With  the  most  savage  beast  ?  Blest,  blest  be  ever 
The  memory  of  that  happy  age,  when  justice 
Had  no  guards  to  keep  off  wrong'd  innocence 
From  flying  to  her  succours,  and,  in  that. 
Assurance  of  redress  !  where*  now,  Romont, 
The  damn'd  with  more  ease  may  ascend  from 

hell, 
Than  we  arrive  at  her.    One  Cerberus  there 
Forbids  the  passage,  in  our  courts  a  thousand, 
As  loud  and  fertile-headed ;  and  the  client 
That  wants  the  sops  to  fill  their  ravenous  throats, 
Must  hope  for  no  access :  why  should  I,  then. 
Attempt  impossibilities  ;  you,  friend,  being  . 
Too  well  acquainted  with  my  dearth  of  means 
To  make  my  entrance  that  way  ? 

Rom.  Would  I  were  not ! 
But,  sir,  you  have  a  cause,  a  cause  so  just, 
Of  such  necessity,  not  to  be  deferr'd, 
As  would  compel  a  maid,  whose  foot  was  never 

^  Assurance  (^redress  !  whefe  itotp,  Iiomont^'\    So  the  martp  ; 
the  modem  editors,  in  their  rage  for  reformation,  read, 

Assurance  of  redress:  whereas  now,  R&mont^ 

which  reduces  the  line  to  rerj  homely  prose.  Where  for  whereas 
occurs  cootinnally  in  these  plajn,  and,  indeed,  in  all  oar  Qld 
writers. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  361 

Set  o'er  her  father's  threshold,  nor  vithin 
The  house  where  she  was  bprn,  evpr  spake  word 
Which  was  not  usher'd  with  pure  virgin  blushes, 
To  drown  the  tempest  of  a  pleader's  tongue, 
And  force  corruption  to  give  back  the  hire 
It  took  against  her.     Let  examples  move  you-. 
You  see  men  great  in  birth,  esteem,  and  fortune, 
Rather  than  lose  a  scruple  of  their  right, 
Fawn  basely  upon  such,  whose  gowns  put  off, 
They  would  disdain  for  servants* 

CharaL  And  to  these 
Can  I  become  a  suitor? 

Rom.  Without  loss : 
Would  you  consider,  that,  to  gain  their  favours, 
Our  chastest  dames  put  off  their  modesties, 
Soldiers  forget  their  honours,  usurers 
Make  sacrifice  of  gold,  poets  of  wit. 
And  men  religious  part  with  fame  and  goodness^ 
Be  therefore  won  to  use  the  means  that  may 
Advance  your  pious  ends. 

CharaL  You  shall  o'ercome. 

Rom.  And  you  receive  the  glory.    Pray  you, 
now  practise. 

Charal.  Tis  well/ 

Enter  Noyall  senior,  Advocates,  Lijladam,  and 

three  Creditors. 

[Tenders  his  petition.^  Not  look  on  me ! 

Rom.  You  must  have  patience 

Offer  it  again. 

CharaL  And  be  again  contemn'd  1 

Nm.  sen.  I  know  what's  to  be  done. 

1  Cred.  And,  that  your  lordship 

5  Charal.  'Tw  we//.]  Tliese  two  words  I  hare  gWen  to  Cha- 
ralois,  to  whom  tfaej  of  right  belong :  they  hare  hitherto  beeu 
allotted  to  Romont. 


869         THE  FATAL  DOWRY.: 

Will  please  to  do  your  knowledge,  we  offer  first  \ 
Our  tnankful  hearts  here,  as  a  bounteous  earnest 
To  what  we  will  add. 

Nov.  sen.  One  word  more  of  this, 
I  am  your  enemy.     Am  I  a  man 
Your  bribes  can  work  on?  ha?' 

Lilad.  Friends,  you  mistake        [Aside  to  Cred. 
The  way  to  win  my  lord  ;  he  must  not  hear  this, 
But  I,  as  one  in  favour,  in  his  sight 
May  hearken  to  you  for  my  profit. — Sir  ! 
Pray  hear  them. 
Nov.  sen.  It  is  well. 
Lilad'  Observe  him  now, 
Nov.  sen.  Your  cause  being  good;  and  your 
proceedings  so, 
Without  corruption  I  am  your  friend ; 
Speak  your  desires, 

2  Cred.  Oh,  they  are  charitable ; 
The  marshal  stood  engaged  unto  us  three 
Two  hundred  thousand  crowns,  which,  by  hia 

death, 
We  are  defeated  of:  for  which  great  loss 
We  aim  at  nothing  but  his  rotten  flesh  j 
Nor  is  that  cruelty. 

1  Cred.  I  have  a  son 
That  talks  of  nothing  but  of  guns  and  armour, 
And  swears  he'll  be  a  soldier ;  'tis  an  humour 
I  would  divert  him  from ;  and  I  am  told. 
That  if  I  minister  to  him^  in  his  drink, 
Powder  made  of  this  bankrupt  marshal's  bones^^ 
Provided  that  the  carcass  rot  above  ground, 
'Twill  cure  hia  foolish  freqzy, 

Nov.  sen.  You  shew  in  it 
A  father's  care.     I  have  a  son  myself, 
A  fashionable  gentleman,  and  a  peaceful ;  . 
And,  but  I  am  assured  he's  not  so  given^ 
He  .should  ts^ke  of  it  too. 


THE  FAT  A  L  D  O  W  R  Y.  96s 

Charal .  Sir !  \Tenders  his  petition. 

Nov.  sen.  What  are  you  ? 

Charal.  A  gentleman.* 

Nov.  sen.  So  are  many  that  rake  dunghills. 
If  you  have  any  suit,  move  it  in  court: 
I  take  no  papers  in  corners.  [Exit. 

Rom.  Yes, 
As  the  matter  may  be  carried— and  whereby — 
To  manage  the  conveyance-*— Follow  him. 

Lilad.  You  are  rude  :  I  say  he  shall  not  pass. 

[Exeunt  Charalois  and  Advocates. 

Rom.  You  say  so  !  • 

On  what  assurance  ? 

For  the  well  cutting  of  his  lordship's  cornSj 
Pickiog  his  toes,  or  any  office  else 
Nearer  to  baseness ! 

Jjilad.  Look  upon  me  better  ; 
Are  these  the  ensigns  of  so  coarse  a  fellow  ? 
Be  well  advised. 

Rom.  Out,  rogue  1  do  not  I  know 
These  glorious  weeds  spring  from  the  sordid 

dunghill 
Of  thy  officious  baseness  ?  wert  thou  worthy 
Of  any  thing  from  me,  but  my  contempt, 
I  would  do  more  than  this, — [Beats  him.] — more, 
you  court-spider ! 

Lilad.  But  that  this  man  is  lawless,  he  should  find 
That  I  am  valiant. 

1  Cred.  If  your  ears  are  fast, 
Tis  nothing.    What's  a  blow  or  two  ?  as  much. 

«  Charal.  Sir! 
Noy.  sen.  fVhat  are  you  f 

Charal.  A  gentleman.]  So  I  have  regulated  these  speeches ; 
,  believing  that  the  modest  Charalois,  encouraged  bj  Romont, 
ventures  to  address  himself  to  Novall.     They  formerly  stQo4 
^hus : 

He  should  take  of  it  too  / — Sir  !  what  are  you  f 
Charal.  A  gentleman. 


864         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

S  Cred.  These  chastisements  as  useful  are  as 
frequent, 
To  such  as  would  grow  rich. 

Rom,  Are  they  so,  rascals  ? 
I  will  befriend  you,  then.  [Kicks  them. 

1  Cred.  Bear  witness,  sirs  ! 

Lilad.  Truthjl  have  born  my  part  already,  friends: 
In  the  court  you  shall  have  more.  [EjpiL 

Rom.  I  know  you  for 
The  worst  of  spirits,  that  strive  to  rob  the  tombs 
Of  what  is  their  inheritance,  the  dead : 
For  usurers,  bred  by  a  riotous  peace, 
That  hold  the  charter  of  your  wealth  and  freedom 
By  being  knaves  and  cuckojds ;  that  ne'er  pray. 
But  when  you  fear  the  rich  heirs  will  grow  wise, 
To  keep  their  lands  out  of  your  parchment  toils ; 
And  then,  the  devil  your  father's  call'd  upon, 
To  invent  some  ways  of  luxury  ne'er  thought  on. 
Be  gone,  and  quickly,  or  I'll  leave  no  room 
Upon  your  foreheads  for  your  horns  to  sprout  on — 
Without. a  murmur,  or  I  will  undo  you; 
For  I  will  beat  you  honest. 

1  Cred.  Thrift  forbid  ! 
We  will  bear  this,  rather  than  hazarxl  that. 

[Eofeunt  Creditors. 

Re-enter  Charalois. 

Rom.  I  am  somewhat  eased  in  this  yet. 

Char.  Only  friend, 
To  what  vain  purpose  do  I  make  my  sorrow 
Wait  on  the  triumph  of  their  cruelty  ? 
Or  teach  their  pride,  from  my  humility, 
To  think  it  has  o'ercome  ?  They  are  determined 
What  they  will  do ;  and  it  may  well  become  me, 
To  rob  them  of  the  glory  they  expect 
From  my  submiss  entreaties. 

Rom.  Think  not  so,  sir : 


THE   FATAI,  DOWRY.        365 

The  difficulties  that  you  encounter  with 
Will  crown  the  undertaking — heaven!  you  weep: 
And  I  could  do  so  too,  but  that  I  know 
There's  more  expected  from  the  son  and  friend 
Of  him  whose  fatal  loss  now  shakes  our  natures. 
Than  sighs  or  tears,  in  which  a  village  nurse,' 
Or  cunning  strumpet,  when  her  knave  is  hang'd, 
May  overcome  us.     We  are  men,  young  lord, 
Let  us  not  do  like  women.     To  the  court, 
And  there  speak  like  your  birth  ^  wake  sleeping 

justice, 
Or  dare  the  axe.    This  is  a  way  will  sort 
With  what  you  are :  I  call  you  not  to  that 
I  will  shrink  from  myself;  I  will  deserve 
Your  thanks,  or  suffer  with  you — O  how  bravely^ 
Tliat  sudden  fire  of  anger  shews  in  you  ! 
Give  fuel  to  it.    Since  you  are  on  a  shelf 
^  Of  extreme  danger,  suffer  like  yourself.  lExeunL 

SCENE   IL 

The  Court  of  Justice. 

Enter  Rochfort,  Novall  senior^  Presidents, 
Chabmi,  Du  Croy,  Beaumont,  Advocates, 
three  Creditors,  and  Officers. 

Du  Croy.    Your  lordships  seated,  may  this 
meeting  prove 
Prosperous  to  us,  and  to  the  general  good 
Of  Burgundy ! 

Nov.  sen.  Speak  to  the  point, 

Du  Croy.  Which  is 

7  0,  k<m  braveli/y  &c.]  This  Ramont  is  a  noble  fellow.    Warm,** 
geTrajrons,  high-spirited,  disinterested,  faithful,  and  affectionate, 
his  copy,  or  rather  his  shadow,  Horatio,  dwindles  into  peffict 
insignificance  on  the  comparison. 


966        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

With  hoDOur  to  dispose  the  place  and  power 
Of  premier  president,  which  this  reverend  man. 
Grave  Rochfort,  whom  for  honour's  skke  I  name^ 
Is  purposed  to  resign ;  a  place,  my  lords, 
In  which  he  hath  with  such  integrity 
Perform'd  the  first  and  best  parts  of  a  judge,  . 
That,  as  his  life  transcends  all  fair  examples 
Of  such  as  were  before  him  in  Dijon, 
So  it  remains  to  those  that  shall  succeed  him, 
A  precedent  th^y  may  imitate,  but  not  equaL'  . 

Roch.  I  may  not  sit  to  hear  this. 

Du  Croy.  Let  the  love 
And  thankfulness  weare  bound  to  pay  to  goodness. 
In  this  o'ercome  your  modesty. 

Roch.  My  thanks 
For  this  great  favour  shall  prevent  your  trouble* 
The  honourable  trust  that  was  imposed 
Upon  my  weakness,  since  you  witness  for  me 
It  was  not  ill  discharged,  I  will  not  mention  ; 
Nor  now,  if  age  had  not  deprived  me  of 
The  little  strength  I  had  to  govern  well 
The  province  that  I  undertook,  forsake  it. 

Nov.  sen.  That  we  could  lend  you  of  our  years ! 

Dm  Croy.  Or  strength  ! 

Nov.  sen.  Or,  as  you  are,  persuade  you   to 
continue 
The  noble  exercise  of  your  knowing  judgment! 

Roch.  That  may  not  be;  nor  can  your  lord- 
ships' goodness. 
Since  your  employments  have  conferred  upon  me 
'  Sufficient  wealth,  deny  the  use  of  it : 
And,  though  old  age,  when  one  foot's  in  the  grave. 
In  many,  when  all  humours  else  are  spent, 

'  A  precedent  they  may  imitate^  hut  not  equal,"]  So  the;  old 
CQP7*  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mas«n,  with  equal  adfantage  ioMfJ^ 
Sepse  and  harmony  of  the  line,  read, 

A  precedent  that  they  may  imitate^  but  not  equal  f 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY.        96r 

Feeds  no  afFection  in  them,  but  desire 

To  add  height  to  the  mountain  of  their  riches,     • 

In  me  it  is  not  so.     I  rest  content 

With  the  honours  and  estate  I  now  possess: 

And,  that  I  may  have  liberty  to  use 

What  heaven,  still  blessing  my  poor  industry, 

Hath  made  me  master  of,  I  pray  the  court , 

To  ease  me  of  my  burthen,  that  I  may 

Employ  the  small  remainder  of  my  life 

In  living  w^ll,  and  learning  how  .to  die  so. 

Enter  Romont  and  Charalois, 

Rom.  See,  sir,. our  advocate. 

Du  Cro^i  The  court  entreats 
Your  lordship  will  be  pleased  to  name  the  man^. 
Which  you  would  have  your  successor,  and,  in  me, 
All  promise  to  confirm  it. 

Rock,  I  embrace  it 
As  an  assurance  of  their  favour  to  me. 
And  name  my  lord  Novall. 

Du  Croy.  The  court  allows  it. 

Rpch.  But  there  are  suitors  wait  here,  and  their 
causes 
May  be  of  more  necessity  to  be  heard ; 
I  therefore  wish  that  mine  may  be  deferr'd. 
And  theirs  have  hearing. 

Bu  Croy.  If  your  lordship  please  [7b  Nov.  sen. 
To  take  the  place,  we  will  proceecL 

Char.  The  cause 
We  come  to  offer  to  your  lordships'  censure. 
Is  in  itself  so  noble,  that  it  needs  not 
Or  rhetoric  in  me  that  plead,  or  favour 
From  your  grave  lordships,  to  determine  of  it; 
Since  to  the  praise  of  your  impartial  justice 
(Which  guilty,  nay,  condemn'4  men,  dare  not 
scandal) 


se9        THJE   FATAL   DOWRY, 

It  will  erect  a  trophy  of  your  mercy, 
^hicb  married  to  that  justice— 

Nov.  sen*  Speak  to  the  cause. 

Char.  I  wiil|  my  lord.    To  say,  the  late  dead' 
marshal, 
The  father  of  this  young  lord  here,  my  client. 
Hath  done  his  country  great  and  faithful  service. 
Might  task  me  of  impertinence,  to  repeat 
What  your  grave  lordships  cannot  but  refnemben 
He,  in  bis  life,  became  indebted  to 
These  thrifty  men,  (I  will  not  wrong  their  credits, 
By  giving  them  the  attributes  they  now  merit,) 
Ana  failing,  by  the  fortune  of  the  wars. 
Of  means  to  free  himself  from^  his  engagements, 
He  was  arrested,  and,  for  want  of  bail, 
Imprison'd  at  their  suit ;  and,  not  long  after. 
With  Ipss  of  liberty,  ended  his  life. 
And,  though  it  be  a  maxim  in  our  laws, 
All  suits  die  with  the  person,  these  mep's  malice 
In  death  fi^ds  inatter  for  their  hate  tQ  wq^Ic  on; 
Denying  him  the  decent  rites  of  burial,* 


•  Deni/ing  him  the  decent  rites  of  burial^  Herodotus  teils  nt 
ibat  Asjchis,  the  grandson  of  Cheops,  to  facilitate  the  bor- 
rowing  of  mone^,  allowed  the  Egyptians  to  pledge  the  de^d 
bodies  of  their  parents,  whi^ h,  until  redeemed  by  payment  of 
the  sums  adfanced,  could  not  be  deposited  in  the  sepulchres  of 
their  fathers.     In  imitation  of  this  monarch,  modern  states  have 
sanctioned  the  arrest  of  a  person's  dead  body  till  his  debts  be 
paid :  but  what  was  in  Asychis  a  wise  institation,  is  in  his  fol- 
lowers a  gratuitous  act  of  absurd  and  savage  barbarity.    With 
the  ancients,  the  fate  of  a  human  being  was  not  decided  by 
death;  his  entrance  into  a  state  of  rest  depended  upon  a  due 
performance  of  his  obsequies ;    and  his  relations  and  friends 
were,  therefore,  impelled  by  the  most  powerful  motives,  to  dis* 
charge  his  obligations,  and  seal  his  doom*  We,  on  the  contrary, 
know  from  difine  authority,  that  ''  as  the  tree  falleth,  so  it 
must  lie,"  and  that  no  action  subsequent  to  a  nian*s  decease^ 
can  affect  his  destiny. 

^^  Some  say  that  the  creditors  may  stay  the  body  of  their 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  S69 

Which  the  sworn  enemies  of  the  Christian  faith 
Grbht  freely  to  their  slaves.    May  it  therefore 

please 
Ydur  lordships  so  to  feshion  your  decree, 
That,  what  their  cruelty  doth  forbid,  your  pity 
May  give  allowance  to. 

Nov.  sen.  How  long  have  you;  sir, 
Practised  in  court  ? 

Char.  Some  twenty  years,  my  lord. 

Nov.  sen.  By  your  gross  ignorance,  it  should 
appear, 
Not  twenty  days. 

Char.  I  hope  I  have  given  no  cause 
In  this,  my  lord. 

Nov.  sen.  How  dare  you  move  the  court 
To  the  dispensing  with  an  act,  confirmed 
B}*  parliament,  to  the  terror  of  all  bankrupts? 
Go  home ;  and  with  more  care  peruse  the  statutes : 
Or  the  next  motion,  savouring^  of  this  boldness. 
May  force  you,  sir,  to  leap,  against  your  will. 
Over  the  place  you  plead  at. 

Char.  I  foresaw  this. 

Rom.  Why,doe8  your  lordship  think  the  moving 
of 
A  cause  more  honest  than  this  court  had  ever 
The  honour  to  determine,  can  deserve 
A  check  like  this  ? 

Nov.  sen.  Strange  boldness  ! 

debtor  from  barial,  til  thej  be  fallj  satisfied  in  their  debt,  anfl 
the  glosse  upon  Linwoode  alledgeth  this  to  he  a  lawe  in  EliglJiifd, 
bat  I  tbinke  no  man  erer  heard  any  such  thing  practised  in  £n« 
glande.*'  Tate^  Antiquity  of  Funeral  Ceremonies^  1600. 

I  am  not  qualified  to  enter  into  this  question :  but  I  hayi^ 
been  assured  that  the  corpse  of  Sir  Barnard  Turner  was  arrested 
hy  his  creditors,  (about  sixteen  years  ago,)  and  not  saflbred  to 
be  buried  till  formally  released. 

^  Or  the  next  m9tion  savouring  of  thii  boldnesSyl  So  the  old 
copy ;  the  moderns  read,/avotiriffj. 


370         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Rom.  Tis  fit  freedom  : 
Or,  do  you  conclude  an  advocate  cannot  hold 
His  credit  with  the  judge,  unless  he  study 
His  face  more  than  the  cause  for  which  he  pleads  ? 
Char.  Forbear. 

Ram.  Or  cannot  you,  that  have  the  power 
To  qualify  the  rigour  of  the  laws 
When  you  are  pleased,  take  a  little  from 
The  strictness  of  your  sour  decrees,  enacted 
In  favour  of  the  greedy  creditors, 
Against  the  overthrown  debtor  ? 

Nov.  sen.  Sirrah !  you  that  prate 
Thus  saucily,  what  are  you  ? 
^    Rom.  Why,  I'll  tell  thee, 
Thou  purple*colour'd  man  !  I  am  one  to  whom  ' 
Thou  ow'st  the  means  thou  hast  of  sitting  there, 
A  corrupt  elder. 
Char.  Forbear. 

Rom.  The  nose  thou  wear'st  is  my  gift ;  and 
those  eyes. 
That  meet  no  object  so  base  as  their  master^ 
Had  been  long  since  torn  from  that  guilty  head, 
And  thou  thyself  slave  to  some  needy  Swiss,* 
Had  I  not  worn  a  sword,  and  used  it  better 
Than,  in  thy  prayers,  thou  ever  didst  thy  tongue^ 
Nov.  sen.  Shall  such  an  insolence  pass  unpu- 

nish'd ! 
Char.  Hear  me. 

Rom.  Yet  I,  that,  in  my  service  done  my 
country, 
Disdain  to  be  put  in  the  scale  with  thee, 

.  *  And  ihou  thyself  stave  to  some  needy  Swiss,]  It  may  not  be 
amiss  to  observe  here,  that  Burgundy  (in  the  capital  of  which 
the  scene  is  laid)  was  a  powerful  and  independent  state*  It 
might,  perhaps,  have  continued  so,  but  for  the  ambitious  and 
destructive  warfare  whichthe  last  of  its  male  sovereigus  madly 
carried  on  against  the  confederated  cantons. 


•    1 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  371 

Confess  myself  unworthy  to  be  valued 
With  the  least  part,  nay,  hair  of  the  dead  marshal ; 
Of  whose  so  many  glorious  undertakings, 
Make  choice  of  any  one,  and  that  the  meanest^ 
Perform'd  against  the  subtle  fox  of  France, 
The  politic  Louis,  or  the  more  desperate  Swiss, 
And  'twill  outw^eigh  all  the  good  purposes. 
Though  put  in  act,  that  ever  gownman  practised. 

Nov.  sen.  Away  with  hini  to  prison  1 

Rom.  If  that  curses,  * 
Urged  justly,  and  breath'd  forth  so,  ever  fell 
On  those  that  did  deserve  them,  let  not  mine 
Be  spent  in  vain  now,  that  thou  from  this  instant 
Mayst,  in  thy  fear  that  they  will  fall  upon  thee. 
Be  sensible  of  the  plagues  they  shall  bring  with 

them. 
And  for  denying  of  a  little  earth 
To  cover  what  remains  of  our  great  soldier. 
May  all  your  wives  prove  whores,  your  factors 

thieves. 
And,  while  you  live,  your  riotous  heirs  undo  you  ! 
And  thou,  the  patron  of  their  cruelty, 
Of  all  thy  lordships  live  not  to  be  owner 
Of  so  much  dung  as  will  conceal  a  dog, 
Or,  what  is  worse,  thyself  in  !  And  thy  years. 
To  th'  end  thou  mayst  be  wretched,  I  wish  many  j 
And,  as  thou  hast  denied  the  dead  a  grave, 
May  misery  in  thy  life  make  thee  desire  one, 
Which  men  and  all  the  elements  keep  from  thee! 
^— I  have  begun  well  j  ifnitate,  exceed. 

[Aside  to  Charalois. 

^  Rom.  If  that  curses  J  &c.]  To  this  most  animated  speech 
Otway  seems  indebted  for  the  imprecations  which  he  makes  the 
indignant  Pierre  pour  upon  the  gofcrament  of  Venice.  The 
reader,  whom  cariosity  may  lead  to  compare  the  two  scenes, 
will  find  how  much  the  copy  fails  beneath  the  original^  not  only 
in  deMcacy^  but  in  spirit. 


m         THE  FATAL  DOWRY, 

Rock.  Good  counsel,  were  it  a  praiseworthy 
deed.  [Exeunt  oncers  with  Romont. 

JDu  Cray.  Remember  what  we  are, 

CharaL  Thus  low  my  duty 
Answers  your  lordshii/s  counsel.    I  will  use, 
In  the  few  words  witn  which  I  am  to  trouble 
Your  lordship^s  ears,  the  temper  that  you  wish  me ; 
Not  that  I  fear  to  speak  my  thoughts  as  loud. 
And  with  a  liberty  beyond  Romont; 
But  that  I  know,  for  me,  that  am  made  up 
Of  all  that's  wretched,  so  to  haste  my  end, 
Would  seem  to  most  rather  a  willingness 
To  quit  the  burthen  of  a  hopeless  life, 
Than  scorn  of  death,  or  duty  to  the  dead. 
I,  therefore,  bring  the  tribute  of  my  praise 
To  your  severity,  and  commend  the  justice 
That  will  not,  for  the  many  services 
That  any  man  hath  done  the  commonwealth, 
Wink  at  his  least  of  ills.    What  though  my  father 
Writ  man  before  he  was  so,  and  confirm'd  it, 
By  numbering  that  day  no  part  of  his  life, 
In  which  he  did  not  service  to  his  country ; 
Was  he  to  be  free,  therefore,  from  the  laws 
And  ceremonious  form  in  your  decrees  ! 
Or  else,  because  he  did  as  much  as  man, 
In  those  three  memorable  overthrows 
At  Granson,  Morat,  Nancy;  where  his  master/    . 

^  In  those  three  memorable  OTerthrows 
At  Granson,  Morat,  Nancy,  &c.]  These  were  indeed  ^^  me^- 
morable,"  since  they  were  giren  by  ill-armed  and  undisciplined 
mimics  (iivrigorated,  indeed,  by  the  calm  and  fearless  spirit  of 
genuine  liberty)  to  armies  superior  to  themselves  in  numbers, 
and  eourposed  of  regular  troops  from  some  of  the  most  warlike 
nations  in  Europe.  The  overthrow  of  Granson  took  place, 
March  84,  1476  :  that  of  Morat^  June  S2d,  in  the  same  year; 
and  that  of  Nancy^  Jaavary  5tfa,  1477.  In  this  Charles  (or^ 
aa  he  i»  here  called,  CharaiotiJ  duke  of  Burgundy  fell;  and  the 
subtle  fox  of  France^  the  politic  Lotds  XI.  shortly  after  seized 
upon  the  defenceless  dntchy,  and  united  it  to  hb  own  kingdom. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  378 

The  warlike  Charalois,  (with  whose  misfortunes 
I  bear  his  name^)  lost  treasure,  men,  and  life. 
To  be  excused  from  payment  of  those  sums 
Which  (his  own  patrimony  spent)  his  zeal 
To  serve  his  country  forced  him  to  take  up! 

Nov.  sen.  The  precedent  were  ill. 

Charal.  And  yet,  my  lord,  this  much, 
I  know,  you'll  grant;  after  those  great  defeatures. 
Which  in  their  dreadful  ruins  buried  quick 

Re-enter  Officers. 

Courage  and  hope  in  all  men  but  himself, 
He  forced  the  proud  foe,  in  his  height  of  conquest, 
To  yield  unto  an  honourable  peace ; 
^And  in  it  saved  an  hundred  thousand  lives, 
To  end  his  own,  that  was  sure  proof  against 
The  scalding  summer's  heat,  and  winter's  frost, 
111  airs,  the  cannon,  and  the  enemy's  sword, 
In  a  most  loathsome  prison. 

Du  Croy.  'Twas  his  fault 
To  be  so  prodigal. 

Nov.  sen.  He  had  from  the  state 
Sufficient  entertainment  for  the  army. 

Charal.  Sufficient,  my  lords !  You  sit  at  home. 
And,  though  your  fees  are  boundless  at  the  bar, 

Are  thrifty  in  the  charges  of  the  war 

But  your  wills  be  obey'd.    To  these  I  turn. 
To  these  soft-hearted  men,  that  wisely  know 
They're  only  good  men  that  pay  what  they  owe. 

2  Cred.  And  so  they  are. 

1  Cred.  It  is  the  city  doctrine  ;* 
We  stand  bound  to  maintain  it. 

s  It  is  the  city  doctrine;']  Tfaas  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice: 
^^  Shy.  Antonio  is  a  good  man. 

'<  Boms.  Ha?e  70a  heard  any  imputation  to  the  contrafj  I 
'^  Shy.  Noy  no,  no ;.— my  meaning  in  saying  he  is  a  good 

^^  man,  is  to  iiaf e  you  understand  me  that  he  is  ft^cient,*' 

VOL.  111.  *  C  C 


SM         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Charal.  Be  constant  in  it ; 
And  since  you  are  as  merciless  in  your  natures, 
As  base  and  mercenary  in  your  means 
By  which  you  get  your  wealth,  I  will  not  urge 
Tne  court  to  t^ke  away  one  scruple  from 
The  right  of  their  laws,  or  [wish]*  one  gQod 

thought 
In  you,  to  mend  your  disposition  with. 
I  know  there  is  no  music  to  your  ears 
So  pleasing  as  the  groans  of  men  in  prison  ; 
And  that  the  tears  of  widows,  and  the  cries 
Of  famisfa'd  orphans,  are  the  feasts  that  take  ypa. 
That  to  be  in  your  danger,^  with  more  care 
Should  be  avoided  than  infectious  air. 
The  loath 'd  embraces  of  diseased  women, 
A  flatterer's  poison,  or  the  loss  of  honour,--^ 
Yet  rather  than  my  father's  reverend  dust 
Shall  want  a  place  in  that  fair  mpnument, 
In  which  our  noble  ancestors  lie  intomb'd, 
Before  the  court  I  offer  up  myself 
A  prisoner  for  it.     Load  me  with  those  irons 
That  have  worn  out  bis  life ;  in  my  best  strei)fgth 
I'll  run  to  the  encounter  of  cold,  hunger, 
And  ohoose  my  dwelling  where  no  sun  dares  enter, 
So  he  may  be  released. 

1  Cred.  What  mean  you,  sir  ? 

2  Advo,  Only  your  fee  again :  there's  sp  much 

^aid 


•  The  right  of  their  laws,  or  [wisb]  one  good  thought 
In  yoft^  &c.]  A  moDOsyllable  has  dropt  out  at  the  presa.    I 
hare  endeavoured  to  complete  the  metre  and,  perhaps,  tiiesenso, 
by  the  addition  in  brackets  :  it  is  a  liberty  that  I  seldom  take, 
and  never  without  giving  the  reader  notice  of  it. 

^  •   '  to  be  ill  your  danger. j  i.  e.  to  be  in  your  debt ; 

a'  common  expression  in  our  old  writers ;  thus  Portia, 
'^  You  stand  within  his  danger^  do  you  not?" 

MtrchatU  of  Fenice. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         375 

Already  in  this  Cjause^  and  s^id  so  Well, 

That,  should  I  only  offer  to  speak  in  it, 

I  should  be  or  not  heard,  or  lauffh*d  at  for  it. 

1  Cred.  'Tis  the  first  money  advQcate  e'er  gave 
back, 
Though  he  said  nothing. 

Roch.  Be  advised,  young  lord, 
And  well  considerate ;  you  thrpw  away 
Your  liberty  and  joy^  of  life  together : 
Your  bounty  is  employ'd  upon  a  subject 
That  is  not  sensible  of  it,  with  which  wise  mau 
Never  abused  his  goodness.    The  great  virtues 
Of  your  dead  father  vindicate  themselves 
From  these  men's  malice,  and  break  ope  the  prisop, 
Though  it  contain  bis  body. 

Nqv*  ^eu.  JL.et  him  alone  : 
If  he  love  cords,  in  God's  name  let  him  wear  them ; 
Provided  these  consent. 

CharaL  I  hppe  they  are  not 
So  ignorant  in  any  way  of  profit. 
As  to  neglect  a  possibijity 
To  get  their  own,  by  seeking  it  from  that 
^hich  can  return  them  nothing  but  ill  fame. 
And  curses,  fgir  their  barbarous  cruelties. 

3  Cr£(t.  What.think  you  of  the  offer  ? 

.^^Cred.  Very  well. 

1  Qr^d.  Accept  it  by  all  means.     Let's  shut 
him  up :  ^    ^ 

He  is  well  shaped,  and  has  a  villainous  tonguei 
And,  should  he  study  that  way  of  revenge, 
As  I  dare  almost  swear  he  loves  a  wench. 
We  have  qp  wives,  nor  never  shall  get  dajughtjQrd, 
That  will  hold  out  against  him. 

Du  Croy.  What's  your  answer  'i 

S  Crtd.  Speak  you  for  all. 

1  Crcd.  Why,  let  our  executions 

♦CcS 


376         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

That  lie  upon  the  father,  be  returned 
Upon  the  son,  and  we  release  the  body. 

Nov.  sen.  The  court  must  grant  you  that. 

Charal,  I  thank  your  lordships. 
They  have  in  it  confirmed  on  me  such  glory 
As  no  time  can  take  from  me :  I  am  ready, 
Come,  lead  me  where  you  please.     Captivity, 
That  comes  with  honour,  is  true  liberty.- 
[E.veunt  Charaloisy  Char  mi.  Officers^  and  Credifors  • 

Nov.  sen.  Strange  rashness  ! 

Roch.  A  brave  resolution  rather, 
Worthy  a  better  fortune :  but,  however. 
It  is  not  now  to  be  disputed  ;  therefore 
To  my  own  cause.     Already  I  have  found 
Your  lordships  bountiful  in  your  favours  to  me^ 
And  that  should  teach  my  modesty  to  end  here, 
And  press  your  loves  no  further. 

Du  Croy.  There  is  nothing 
The  court  can  grant,  but  with  assurance  you 
May  ask  it,  and  obtain  it. 

Roch.  You  encourage 
A  bold  petitioner,  and  'tis  not  fit 
Your  favours  should  be  lost :  besides,  Vas  been 
A  custom  many  years,  at  the  surrendering 
The  place  I  now  give  up,  to  grant  the  president 
One  boon,  that  parted  with  it:  and,  to  confirm 
Your  grace  towards  me,  against  all  such  as  may 
Detract  my  actions  and  life  hereafter, 
I  now  prefer  it  to  you. 

Du  Croy.  Speak  it  freely. 

Roch.  I  then  desire  the  liberty  of  Romont, 
And  that  my  lord  Novall,  whose  private  wrong 
Was  equal  to  the  injury  that  was  done 
To  the  dignity  of  the  court,  will  pardon  it, 
And  now  &ign  his  enlargement. 
JVbv.  sen.  Pray  you  demand 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  377 

» 

The  moiety  of  my  estate,  or  any  thing 
Within  my  power,  but  this. 

Roch,  Am  I  denied  then 
My  first  and  last  request? 

T>u  Croy.  It  must  not  be. 

2  Frt.  I  have  a  voice  to  give  in  it. 

3  Pre.  And  I. 

And  if  persuasion  will  not  work  him  to  it, 
We  will  make  known  our  power, 

Nov.  sen.  You  are  too  violent ; 
You  shall  have  my  consent :  but  would  you  had 
Made  trial  of  m^y  love  in  any  thing 
But  this,  you  should  have  found  then — but  it 

skills  not : 
You  have  what  you  desire. 

Roch.  I  thank  your  lordships. 

Du  Croy.  The  court  is  up.     Make  way, 

[Exeunt  all  but  Rochfort  and  Beaumont. 

Roch.  I  follow  you. 
Beaumont ! 

Beau.  My  lord. 

Roch.  You  are  a  scholar,  Beaumont ; 
And  can  search  deeper  into  the  intents  of  men, 
Than  those  that  are  less  knowing. — How  appeared 
The  piety  and  brave  behaviour  of 
Young  Charalois,  to  you? 

Beau.  It  is  my  wonder, 
Since  I  want  language  to  express  it  fully : 
And  sure  the  colonel — :- 

Roch.  Fie  !  he  was  faulty. 
What  present  money  have  I  ? 

Beau.  There's  no  want 
Of  any  sum  a  private  man  has  use  for. 

Roch.  Tis  well: 
I  am  strangely  taken  with  this  Charalois. 
Methinks,  from  his  example  the  whole  age 
Should  learn  to  be  good,  and  continue  so. 


3r«        THE  FATAL  DOWRV. 

Virtue  works  strangely  with  us ;  and  his  goodness 
Rising  above  his  fortune,  seems  to  me, 
Prince-like,  to  will,  not  ask,  a  courtesy,  [Exeunt. 


ACT  IL    SCENE  I. 

A  Street  before  the  Prison. 

Enter  Foj^TAUER^  Malotin,  and  Beav^o^t. 

Mai.  Tis  strange. 

Beau.  Methinks  so. 

Pont.  In  a  man  but  young, 
Yet  old  in  judgment ;  theoric  and  practic 
In  all  humanity,*  and,  to  increase  the  wonder, 
Religious,  yet  a  soldier ;  that  he  should 
Yield  his  free-living  youth  a  captive  for 
The  freedom  of  his  aged  father's  corpse, 
And  rather  choose  to  want  life's  necessaries, 
Liberty,  hope  of  fortune,  than  it  should 
In  death  be  kept  from  Christian  ceremony. 

Afai.  Come,  'tis  a  golden  precedent  in  a  son, 
To  let  strong  nature  have  the  better  hand, 
In  such  a  case,  of  all  affected  reason. 
What  years  sit  on  this  Charalpis  ? 

Beau.  Twentv-eio'ht : 
For  since  the  clock  did  strike  him  seventeen  old. 
Under  his  father's  wing  this  son  hath  fought, 
Served  and  commanded,  and  so  aptly  both, 
That  sometimes  he  appeared  his  father's  father. 
And  never  less  than  's  son ;  the  old  man's  virtues 
So  recent  in  him,  as  the  world  may  swear, 
Nought  but  a  fair  tree  could  such  fair  fruit  bear. 


8 


In  M  huaaiiityj]   i.  e.  in  all  polite  Kteratnre. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         579 

Pont.  But  wherefore  lets  he  such  a  barbarous 
law, 
And  men  more  barbarous  to  execute  it, 
Prevail  on  his  soft  disposition, 
That  he  had  rather  die  alive  for  debt 
Of  the  old  man,  in  prison,  than  they  should 
Rob  him  of  sepulture;  considering 
These  monies  borrowed  bought  the  lenders  peace, 
And  all  the  means  they  enjoy,  nor  were  diffused 
In  any  impious  or  licentious  path  ? 

Beau.  True  !  for  my  part,  were  it  my  father's 
trunk. 
The  tyrannous  ram-heads  with  their  horns  should 

gore  it, 
Or  cast  it  to  their  curs,  than  they  less  currish, 
Ere  prey  on  me  so  with  theTr  lion-law. 
Being  in  my  free  will,  as  in  his,  to  shun  it. 

Font,  Alas  !  he  knows  himself  in  poverty  lost : 
For,  in  this  partial  avaricious  age, 
What  price  bears  honour  ?  virtue  ?  long  ago, 
It  was  but  praised,  and  freezed  ;  but  now-a-days, 
Tis  colder  far,  and  has  nor  love  nor  praise : 
The  very  praise  now  freezeth  too ;  for  nature 
Did  make  the  heathen  far  more  Christian  then, 
Than  knowledge  us,  less  heathenish,  Christian. 

Mai.  This  morning  is  the  funeral  ? 

Pont.  Certainly, 
And  from  this  prison, — 'twas  the  son's  request. 
That  his  dear  father  might  interment  have, 
See,  the  young  son  enter'd  a  lively  grave  ! ' 

9  Sc€y  the  young  son  enter'd  a'  IiTcly  grate  /]   i.  e.  a  living 
graTe,  so  he  calls  the  prison.     The  quarto  has: 

Sec  the  young  son  iuter'd  a  lively  grave. 

The  small  change  here  made  restores  the  passage  to  sense.  Mr* 
M.  Mason  would  read — enters  alive  the  grave,  which  I  should 
like  better,  if  the  preceding  line  had  dead  instead  of  dear  father. 
The  old  reading,  however,   is   defended  by  Mr.   Gilchrist, 


380        THE  FATAL   DOWRr. 
Beau.  They  come: — observe  their  order. 

4 

\ 

Solemn  music.  Enter  the  Funeral  Procession.  The 
Coffin  home  byfour^  preceded  by  a  Priest.  Cap- 
tains,  Lieutenants ^EnsignSy  and  Soldiers  ;  Mour'- 
nerSj  Scutcheons,  8^c.  and  very  good  order.  Ro- 
MONT  and  CHAViALOi%,  followed  by  the  Gaolers 
and  Officers^  with  Creditors,  meet  it. 

Charal  How  like  a  silent  stream  shaded  with 

night, 
And  gliding  softly,  with  our  windy  si^hs, 
Moves  the  whole  frame  of  this  solemnity  ! 
Tears,  sighs,  and  blacks*  filling  the  simile ; 
Whilst  I,  the  only  murmur  in  this  grove 
Of  death,  thus  hollowly  break  forth.  Vouchsafe 
[7b  the  Bearers^  who  set  dmm  the  Coffin. 
To  stay  awhile. — Rest,  rest  in  peace,  dear  earth  ! 
Thou  that  brought'st  rest  to  their  unthankful 

lives, 
Whose  cruelty  denied  thee  rest  in  .death  ! 
Here  stands  thy  poor  executor,  thy  son, 
That  makes  his  life  prisoner  to  bail  thy  death ; 
Who  gladlier  puts  on  this  captivity, 
Than  virgins,  long  in  love,  their  wedding  w^eds. 
Of  all  that  ever  thou  hast  done  good  to, 
These  only  have  good  memories ;  for  they 
Remember  best  forget  not  latitude* 

vi\io  obserres  that  there  is  a  similar  combination  of  words  just 
aboTc^ 

^^  He  had  rather  die  oXm  for  debt." 

And  also  io  Samson  Agonistcs : 

**  Myself  my  sepulchre,  a  numng  graD€J*\     t.  102. 

These  passages  are,  indeed,  strikingly  similar ;  but  they  are  not 
for  that  the  more  intelligible. 

'  Tears^  sighs,  and  blacks  &c.]   Blacks  are  constantly  used  by 
our  old  writers  for  mourning  weeds. 


THE   FATAL  DOWRY.         381 

I  thank  you  for  this  last  and  friendly  love. 

[To  the  Soldiers. 
And  though  this  country,  like  a  viperous  mother, 
Not  only  hath  eat  up  ungratefully 
All  means  of  thee,  her  son,  but  last,  thyself, 
Leaving  thy  heir  so  bare  aud  indigent, 
He  cannot  raise  thee  a  poor  monument. 
Such  as  a  flatterer  or  a  usurer  hath ; 
Thy  worth,  in  every  honest  breast,  builds  one. 
Making  their  friendly  hearts  thy  funeral  stone.* 

Pont  Sir. 

GharaL  Peace  1  O,  peace !  this  scene  is  wholly 
mine. 
What !  weep  ye,  soldiers  ?  blanch  not — Romont 

weeps  1 

Ha !  let  me  see ! — my  miracle  is  eased, 
The  gaolers  and  the  creditors  do  weep  ; 
Even  they  that  make  us  weep,  do  weep  then^sel  ves  1 
Be  these  thy  body's  balm  1  these  and  thy  virtue 
Keep  thy.  fame  ever  odoriferous, 
Whilst  the  great,  proud,  rich,  undeserving  man. 
Alive,  stinks  in  his  vices,  and,  being  vanish'd, 
The  golden  calf,  that  was  an  idol  deck'd 
With  marble  pillars,  jet,  aud  porphyry. 
Shall  quickly,  both  in  bone  and  name,  consume. 
Though  rapt  in  lead,  spice,  searcloth,  and  per- 
fume ! 

^  Thy  worthy  in  every  honest  breast^  builds  one^ 
Making  thdr  friendly  hearts  thy  funeral  ^/o^e.]    Had  Pope 
Massinger  in  his  thoughts  when  he  wrote  his  epitaph  on  Gay? 

^^  These  are  thy  honours!  not  that  here  thy  bust 
^^  Is  mix'd  with  heroes,  or  with  kings  thy  dust; 
^^  But  that  the  virtuous  and  the  good  shall  say, 
'^  Strikiag  their  pensire  bosoms, — Here  lies  Gay?'' 

I  cannot  avoid  adding,  that  Johnson  must  have  written  his 
comments  on  this  little  production,  in  a  fit  of  the  spleen,  and  a 
very  dull  fit  too.  They  cannot  injure  Pope ;  but  they  may  do 
some  harm  to  himself. 


ttS        THE  FATAL  DOWRY, 

1  Cred.  Sir. 

Charal  What  ?  away^  for  shame !  you,  profane 
rogues, 
Must  not  be  mingled  with  these  holy  relics ; 
This  is  a  sacrifice  :  * — our  shower  shall  crown 
His  sepulchre  with  olive,  myrrh,  and  bays, 
The  plants  of  peace,  of  sorrow,  victory  ; 
Your  tears  would  spring  but  weeds. 

1  Cred.  Would  they  so  ! 
We'll  keep  them  to  stop  bottles  then. 

Rom.  No,  keep  them 
For  your  own  sins,  you  rogues,  till  you  repent ; 
You'll  die  else,  and  be  damn'd. 

9Crcd.  Damn'd!— hai  ha  I  ha! 

Rom.  Laugh  ye  ? 

S  Cred.  Yes,  faith,  sir ;  we  would  be  very  glad 
To  please  you  either  way. 

1  Cred.  You  are  ne'er  content, 
Crying  nor  laughing. 

Kom.  Both  with  a  birth,  ye  rogues  ? 

2  Cred.  Our  wives,  sir,  taught  us. 

Rom.  Look,  look,  you  slaves !  your  thankless 
cruelty, 
And  savage  manuers  of  unkind  Dijon, 
Exhaust  these  floods,*  and  not  his  father's  death. 

1  Cred.  'Slid,  sir !  what  would  you  ?  you're  so 

choleric ! 

2  Cred.  Most  soldiers  are  so,  i'faith ; — let  him 

alone. 
They  have  little  else  to  live  on.    We've  not  had 
A  penny  of  him,  have  we  ? 


^  This  is  a  sacrifice :]  From  which  the  profane  were  excluded. 
He  alladea  to  the  ancient  form  of  adjuration,  £x«f,  t%ois  »m, 

*■  Exhaust  these  Jioods^]  i.  e«  draw  them  forth,  produce  them. 
A  latinism* 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.        983 

S  Cred.  'Slight !  would  you  haVe  our  hearts  ? 

1  Cred.  We  have  nothing  but  his  body  here  in 
durance. 
For  all  our  money.  - 

Priest.  On. 

Charal.  One  morhefit  more^ 
But  to  bestow  a  few  poor  legacies, 
All  I  have  left  in  my  dead  father's  rights, 
And  I  have  done.  Captain,  wear  thou  these  spurs, 
That  yet  ne'er  made  hif?  horse  run  from  a  foe. 
X'ieutenant,  thou  this  scarf;  and  may  it  tie 
Thy  valour  and  tliy  honesty  together ! 
For  so  it  did  in  him*     Ensign,  this  cuirass, 
Yourgeneral's  necklace  once.  You,  gentle  bearers^ 
Divide  this  piirse  of  gold;  this  other,  strew 

Among  the  poor;  'tis  all  I  have.     Romont-t 

Wear  thou  this  medal  of  himself— —-that,  like 
A  hearty  oak,  grew'st  close  to  this  tall  pine,' 
Even  in  the  wildest  wilderness  of  war, 
AVhereonfoes  broke  their  swords,  and  tired  them- 

,    selves : 
Wounded  and  hack'd  ye  were,  but  never  fell'd* 

For  me,  my  portion  provide  in  heaven ! 

My  root  is  earth'd,  and  I,  a  desolate  branch, 
Left  scatter'd  in  the  highway  of  the  world, 
Trod  under  foot,  that  might  have  been  a  column 
Mainly  supporting  our  demolish'd  house. 

This  would  I  wear*  as  my  inheritance 

And  what  hope  can  arise  to  me  from  it. 
When  I  and  it  are  both  here  prisoners ! 
Only  may  this,  if  ever  we  be  free, 
Keep,  or  redeem,  me  from  all  infamy. 

A  DIRGE  TO  SOLEMN  MUSIC* 

I 

♦  This  Tcould  I  wear ^  &c.]  i.  e.  his  fotfaer's  sword.  M.  Masok. 
'  I  have  followed  the  old  copies^  in  throwing  these  rhymes  to- 


584         THE   J'ATAL   DOWRY. 

1  Cred.  No  further;  look  to  them  at  your  oM'u 
peril. 

gether  at  the  end  of  the  play.  I  wish  I  could  have  thrown  them 
quite  away,  for,  to  confess  the  truth,  they  are  good  for  nothing. 

In  that  precious  republication  of  Ford  with  which  the 
world  has  lately  been  favoured,  the  editor  has,  in  several 
places,  manisfested  his  displeasure,  at  the  blunders  of  the  present 
work.  *^  I  protest  (he  says)  against  a  singufar  practice  of  Mr. 
Gifford— with  a  very  few  exceptions,  all  the  songs  which  occur 
in  the  works  of  Massinger  are  omitted  in  their  places^  and, 
placed  at  the  end  of  the  plays." — "  I  protest  !*' — Grandeur  in 
miniature. — Is  Mr.  Weber  aware  that  '^  the  first  duke's  sou  in 
France  dares  not  say  I  protest^  till  he  be  one  and  thirty  years 
old  at  the  least?*'  Sir  Giles  Goosecap,  Without  vl protest^  how. 
erer,  I  must  inform  Mr.  Weber  that  what,  with  his  usual  bold 
and  blind  ignorance,  he  presumes  to  call  a  '^  singular  practice*^ 
of  mine,  is  familiar  to  almost  all  the  dramatists  of  the  old  stage 
from  Shakspeare  to  Shirley.  Had  he  turned  to  Coxeter  and 
Monk  Mason  he  would  hare  found  the  songs  ^^  placed  at  the 
end,"  and  had  he  extended  his  labours,  and  looked  into  the  old 
editions  of  Massinger,  the  same  sight  would  have  appalled  him. — 
So  much  for  my  ^^  singularity !"  A  word  may  yzi  be  said  on  the 
practice.  It  must  have  occurred  to  those  who  do  not  read  books 
(like  Mr.  Weber)  by  the  index,  that  there  are  two  sorts  of  songs 
in  use  among  our  old  dramatists ;  the  first  conducive  to  the  plot, 
and  appropriated  to  a  particular  character ;  these,  of  course, 
are  generally  printed :  the  second,  introduced  merely  to  fill  up 
time,  and  amuse  the  amateurs  of  Blow-bladder  lane,  and  Petti- 
coat alley,  great  critics  in  stage  music  in  those  days,  as  indeed 
they  still  are :  and  of  these,  as  they  were  allotted  to  no  one  of  the 
Dramatis  Personae,  and  had  no  connection  with  the  story,  seldom 
more  than  the  title  is  given,  or  if  the  publisher  condescended  to 
supply  the  words  (for  the  author  rarely  troubled  himself  about 
them)  they  were,  as  here,  removed  to  the  last  page. 

Those  who  are  unacquainted  with  Mr.  Weber's,  sweeping 
style,  will  naturally  conclude  from*  his  expressions — "  very  few 
exceptions" — "  all  the  songs,"  &c.  &c.-^that  I  have  misplaced 
some  scores  of  them  — But  what  is  the  fact?  Massinger  has,  I 
think,  songs  in  three  of  hfs  plays,  and  no  more ;  and,  in  two 
of  them,  they  are  thrown  together  at  the  conclusion;*  so 
that  my  trespass  is  confined  to  a  solitary  instance.    By  this  time, 

•  This  is  so  notoriously  the  case,' that  Cozeter  and  Monk  Mason  were  unable 
to  discover  the  scenes,  nay  the  acts,  to  which  they  respectively  belonged.— 1  his 
striking  circumstance,  unfortunately  for  Mr.  Weber,  was  not  in  the  index. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.        S95 

ZCred.  No,  as  they  please:  their  mastier's  a 

good  man. ^ 

I  would  they  were  at  the  Bermudas  ! 

Gaol,  You  must  no  further. 
The  prison  limits  you,  and  the  creditors 
Exact  the  strictness. 

Rom.  Out,  you  wolvish  mongrels  ! 
Whose  brains  should  be  knock'd  out,  like  dogs 

in  July, 
Lest  your  infection  poison  a  whole  town. 

Charal.  They   grudge   our  sorrow.     Your  ill 
wills,  perforce. 
Turn  now  to  charity ;  they  would  not  have  us 
Walk  too  far  mourning;  usurers'  relief 
Grieves,  if  the  debtors  have  too  much  of  grief. 

[Eji:eunt. 

SCENE   11/ 

A  Room  in  Rochfort's  House. 

Enter  Beauhelle,  Florimel,  and  Bellapert. 

Beaumel.  I  prithee  tell  me,  Florimel,  why  do 
women  marry  r 

tlie  reader  is  as  weary  of  Mr.  Weber,  as  I  am :  before  his  dis- 
missal, however,  I  wiU  jast  take  leave  to  observe,  that  if  he  had 
employed  a  thousandth  part  of  the  care  on  Ford,  which  was 
bestowed  on  Massinger,  the  English  press  would  have  escaped 
the  greatest  disgrace  which  ever  yet  befel  it.  If  it  be  ^^  my 
cae"  to  protest^  hereafter,  this  shall  be  found  no  random  ob* 
servation. 

^  I  will  not  venture  to  pronounce  the  fine  scene  which  we  have 
pist  finished,  to  be  written  by  Field,  though  I  entertain  few 
doubts  of  it;  but  I  am  confident  that  not  a  line  of  this  to  which 
ve  .are  now  arrived  was  composed  by  Massinger.  It  is  not 
in  his  manner.  Unluckily  the  poet's  associates  were  somewhat 
like  Dr.  Johnson^s  patrons — they  occasionally  encumbered  him 
with  their  assistance. 


SB6        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

-Rtor*  Why  truly,  madam^  I  tbink^  to  li^  ^ith 
their  husbands. 

Bell.  You  are  a  fool.  She  lies,  ma^am;  in/owen 
marry  husbands,  to  lie  with  other  meu. 

Flor.  'Faith,  even  such  a  woman  vilt  thou  ma^e* 
By  this  light,  madam,  this  wagtail  will  spoil  you, 
if  you  take  delight  in  her  license* 

BeaumeL  'Tis  true,  Florimel;  and  thou  wilt 
make  me  too  good  for  a  young  lady.  What  an 
electuary  found  my  father  out  for  his  daughter, 
when  he  compounded  you  two  my  women!  for 
thou,  Florimel,  art  even  a  grain  too  heavy,  simply, 
for  a  waiting-gentlewoman r 

Flor.  Apd  thou,  Bellaperf,  a  grain  too  light. 

JSelL  Well,  go  thy  ways,  goody  wisdom,'  whom 
nobody  regards.  I  wonder  whether  be  elder, 
thOu  or  thy  hood  ?  You  think,  because  you  served 
my  lady's  mother,  are  thirty-two  years  old,  whifch 
is  a  pip*  out,  you  know 

Flor.  Well  said,  whirligig. 

BelL  You  are  deceived ;  I  want  a  peg  in  the 
middlci'-^Out  of  these  prerogatives,  you  think 
to  be  mother  of  the  maids  here,  and  mortify  them 
with  proverbs  :  go,  go,  govern  the  sweetmeats, 
and  weigh  the  sugar,  that  the  wenches  steal 
none ;  say  your  prayers  twice  a  day,  and,  a§  J 
tiake  it,  you  have  perfornied  ypur  fpnction. 

Flor.  I  may  be  even  with  you. 

"7  Bell.  Welly  go  thy  ways^  goody  wisdom,  whom  nobody  re- 
gards.] This  flippant  allusion  to  Scripture,  were  there  no  other 
proofs,  would  be  suj£cient  to  convince  eyery  attentive  reader, 
that  this  dialogue  could  not  proceed  from  Massinger.  He  has, 
indeed,  a  thousand  references  to  holy  writ ;  but  they  are  con- 
stantly made  with  becoming  seriousness  and  solemnity. 

'  Whkh  is  a  pip  out^']  A  pip  is  a  spot  upon  a  card.  The 
allusion  is  to  the  ancient  game  of  One^ncUthirty :  it  was  once  ^ 
favourite  diversion,  and  is  mentioned,  amon^  others,  in  Green's 
Art  of  Coney  Catching. 


THE   FATAL  DOWRY.         S»f 

Bell.  HarJc !  the  court's  broke  up.  Go,  help 
xny  old  lord  out  of  his  caroch,  and  scratch  his 
head  till  dinner  time. 

Flor.  Well  [EsiL 

BelL  Fie,  madam,  how  you  walk!  By  my 
maidenhead,  you  look  seven  years  older  than 
you  did  this  morning.  Why,  there  can  be  nothing 
under  the  sun  valuable  to  make  you  thus  a 
minute. 

Beaumel.  Ah,  niy  sweet  Bellapert,  thou  cabinet 
To  all  my  counsels,  thou  dost  know  the  cause 
That  makes  thy  lady  wither  thus  in  youth. 

Bell.  Uds-light!  enjoy  your  wishes:  whilst  I 
live. 
One  way  or  other  you  shall  crown  your  will. 
Would  you  have  him  your  husband  that  you  love, 
And  can  it  not  be  ?  he  is  your  servant,  though^  . 
And  may  perform  the  office  of  a  husband. 

Beaumel.  But  there  is  honour,  wench. 

Bell.  Such  a  disease 
There  is  indeed,  for  which  ere  I  would  die ^ 

Beaumel.  Prithee,  distinguish  me  a  maid  and 
wife. 

Bell.  'Faith,  madam,  one  may  hear  any  man's 
children,  t'other  must  bear  no  man's. 

Beaumel.  What  is  a  husband  ? 

Bell.  Physic,  that,  tumbling  in  your  belly, 
will  make  you  sick  in  the  stomach.  The  only 
distinction  betwixt  a  husband  and  a  servant  is, 
the  first  will  lie  with  you  when  he  pleases ;  the 
last  shall  lie  with  you  when  you  please.  Pfay 
tell  me,  lady,  do  you  love,  to  marry  after,  or 
would  you  marry,  to  love  after  ? 

Beaumel.  I  would  meet  love  and  marriage  both 
'  at  once. 

Bell.  Why  then  you  are  out  of  the  fashion,  and 
will  be  contcmn'd :  for  I  will  assure  you,  there 


388         THE  FATAL   DOWRY. 

are  few  women  in  the  world,  but  cither  they  have 
married  first,  and  love  after ;  or  love  first,  and 
married  after.  You  must  do  as  you  may,  not  as 
you  would;  your  father's  will  is  the  goal  you 
must  fly  to.  If  a  husband  approach  you,  you 
would  have  further  off,  is  he  you  love,  the  less 
near  you  ?  A  husband  in  these  days  is  but  a  cloak, 
to  be  oftencr  laid  upon  your  bed,  than  in  your 
bed. 

BeaumeL  Humph  1 

Bell.  Sometimes  you  may  wear  him  on  your 
shoulder;  now  and  then  under  your  arm;  but 
seldom  or  never  let  him  cover  you,  for  'tis  not 
the  fashion. 

Enter  T^ov  ALL  junior,  Pontalier,  Malotin, 

LiLADAM,  and  Aymer. 

Nov.jun.  Best  day  to  nature's  curiosity, 
Star  of  Dijon,  the  lustre  of  all  France  ! 
Perpetual  spring  dwell  on  thy^rosy  cheeks, 

Whose  breath  is  perfume  to  our  continent! 

See  !   Flora  trimm'd*  in  her  varieties. 

Bell.  O,  divine  lord  1 

Nov.jun.  No  autumn  nor  no  age  ever  approach 
This    heavenly    piece;    which    nature    having 

wrought, 
She  lost  her  needle,  and  did  then  despair 
Ever  to  work  so  lively  and  so.  fair  1 

Lilad.  Uds-light!  my  lord,*one  of  thcpurlsof 

*  See !  Flora  trimm'd  in  her  varieties,"]  The  old  copy  reads, 
tum'df  and  was  follow'd  hy  Coxeter:  the  alteration  is  by  Mr. 
M.  Mason. 

.  '  Lilad.  Uds-light !  my  lord^  &c.]  If  this  ridiculous  interrup- 
tion furnished  Sterne  with  the  hint  for  that  humorous  one  by 
the  Count  de  Faineant,  when  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  disserta- 
tion on  the  necessity  of  a  First  Cause»  it  must  be  allowed  that 
he  has  greatly  improved  on  his  original. 


THE   FATAL  DOWRY.         889 

Vour  band  is,  without  aH  discipline,  fallen  out  of 
his  rank. 

Nov.jun.  How  !  I  would  not  for  i  thousand 
ctowns  she  had  seen't.    Dear  Liladam,  refornr  it. 

Bell.  Oh  lord  per  se^  lord  \  qiiiutessence  of 
honour  !  she  walks  not  under  a  weed  that  could 
deny  thee  any  thing. 

BeaumeL  Prithee  peace^  wench ;  thou  dost  but 
blow  the  fire^ 
That  flames  too  much  already. 

[^Liladam  and  Aymer  trim  Novally  while  Bella* 
pert  dresses  her  lady. 

Aym.  By  gad,  my  lord,  you  have  the  divinest 
tailor  in  Christendom  ;  he  hath  made  you  look 
like  an  angel  in  your  cloth-of-tissue  doublet. 

Pont.  This  is  a  three-leggVl  lord ;  there's  a 
fresh  assault.  Oh  t  that  men  should  spend  time 
thus!  See,  see,  how  her  blood  drives  to  her  heart, 
^and  straight  vaults  to  her  cheeks  again ! 

Maht.  What  are  these  ? 

PonL  One  of  thern  there,  the  lower,  is  a  good, 
foolish,  knavish,  sociable  gallimaufry  of  a  man, 
and  has  much  caught  my  lord  with  singing ;  he 
is  maister  of  a  music-house.  The  other  is  his 
dressing  block,  upon  whom  my  lord  lays  all  his 
clothes  and  fashions  ^ere  he  vouchsafes  them  his 
own  person :  you  shall  see  him  in  the  morning 
in  the  Galley-foist,  at  noon  in  the  Bullion,  in  the 
evening  in  C^nirpo,*  and  all  night  in 


•  II  Mr  you  shall  see  Urn  in  'the  fn&ming  hi  jthe  Galley^foist, 
ci  noon  in  the  Bullion,  in  the  evening  in  Quirpd,  &c.]  I  know  not 
jwhat  to  make  of  this  passage.  Mr.  M.  Mason  thinks  the  places 
here  mentioned  to  be  tayems ;  it  is  fiiU  as  likely  that  they  were 
houses  iii  pablic  resort  for  some  kind  of  ami(6ement.  Our.  old 
writers  give  the  name  of  galleff-foist  to  the  lord  mayor's  barge; 
but  I  see  not  hvw  this,  or  any  other  of  the  city  barges,  can  be 
meant  here. 

* 

Oh  reconsidering  the  whole  of  this  jfMfULgep  J  am  inclined 
VOL,  ill.  ♦  D  d 


590         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Malot  A  bawdyhouse. 

Pont.  If  my  lord  deny,  they  deny ;  if  he  affirm, 
they  affirm :  they  skip  into  my  lord's  cast  skins 
some  twice  a  year ;  and  thus  they  flatter  to  eat^ 
eat  to  live,  and  live  to  praise  my  lord, 

Malot.  Good  sir,  tell  me  one  thing. 

Pont.  What's  that? 

Malot.  Dare  these  men  ever  fight  on  any  cause? 

Pont.  Oh,  no !  'twould  spoil  their  clothes,  and 
put  their  bands  out  of  order. 

Nov.jun.  Mistress,'  you  hear  the  news?'  your 

to  think  that  the  allnsion  is  to  particular  modes  of  dress. 
The  galley-foist,  "when  employed,  was  always  adorned  with 
flags*  streamers,  8cc. — this  is  sufficiently  manifest  from  many 
old  views  of  the  rirer;  and  it  may  be,  that  some  gaudy 
dress  set  off  with  scarfs  and  ribands,  took  its  name  from  the 
holiday  appearance  of  this  vessel.  The  Bullion  seems  to  be  a 
piece  of  finery,  which  derived  its  denomination  from  the  lai^e 
globular  gilt  buttons,  still  in  use  on  the  continent  (particularly 
in  Holland,)  and  of  which  a  diminutire  specimen  may  yet  be 
seen  on  the  jcloihes  of  our  children.  This  explains  a  paasage  in 
Jonson : 

*^  While  yon  do  eat,  and  lie  about  the  town  here, 
^^  And  cozen  in  your  Bullions."        The  DeviVs  an  As$. 

Here  Bullion  is  evidently  used  for  some  dress  of  parade,  pat  on 
by  gamblers,  &c.  for  the  sake  of  imposing  on  the^unwary.  It 
is  applied  in  a  kindred  sense,  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher : 

^^  That  ape  had  paid  it-*-0  what  dainty  tricks, 

'<  In  his  French  doublet  with  hb  blistered  [blown  np,  hollow] 

bullions 
^^  In  a  long  stpck  tied  up.*'       Beggar*s  Busk0 

Qnirpo  (cuerpo)  is  an  undress ;  the  Spaniards,  from  whom  we 
borrowed  the  word,  apply  it  to  a  person  in  a  light  jacket, 
(juste-an-corps,)  without  his  cabot  or  cloak;  but  our  old  dra- 
matists, who  use  the  expression  upon*  all  occasions,  mean  by  it 
•  any  state  from  nakedness  to  imperfect  clothing.  What  the 
night  dress  of  Armer  (^^  my  lord's  third  leg'')  was,  the  adroit 
interruption  of  Malotin  prevents  us  from  ascertaining:  nor,  in- 
deed, would  I  have  the  reader  to  accept  the  explanation  of  the 
'others,  as  any  thing  more  than  conjecture. 

<  Kov.Jun.  Mistress,  yoii^ar  tke  navff]    For  thissiiDpIe 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY^        591 

father  has  resigned  his  presidentship  to  my  lord 
my  father. 

MaL  And  lord  Charalois 
Undone  for  ever. 

Pont.  Troth,  *tis  pity,  sin 
A  braver  hope  of  so  assured  a  father, 
Did  never  comfort  France. 

Lilad.  A  good  dumb  mourner. 

Aym,  A  silent  black. 

Nov.  Jan.  Oh,  fie  upon  him,  how  he  wears  his 
clothes ] 
As  if  he  had  come  this  Christmas  from  St.  Omers, 
To  see  his  friends,  and  return'd  after  Twelfth- tide. 

Lilad.  His  colonel  looks  finely  like  a  drover— 

Nov.Jun.  That  had  a  winter  lain  perdue  in  the 
rain. 

Jlj/m.  What,  he  that  wears  a  clout  about  his 
neck, 
His  cuffs  in's  pocket,  and  his  heart  in's  mouth? 

JNov.jun.  Now,  out  upon  him  ! 

Beaumcl.  Servant,  tie  my  hand. 

[Nov.jun.  kisses  her  hand. 
How  your  lips  blush,  in  scorn  that  thev  should  pay 
Tribute  to  hands,  when  lips  are  in  the  way  I 

Nov.jun.  I  thus  recant;  [Kis3es  her.]  yet  now 
your  hand  looks  white, 
Because  your  lips  robb'd  it  of  such  a  right. 
Monsieur  Aynier,  I  prithee  sing  the  song 
Devoted  to  my  mistress.  - 

MUSIC,— ANP  A  SONG  BY  ATM£R. 

* 

cxprefwion  the  modern  editors  strangely  read.  Must  yon  heas 
the  news? 


♦Dda 


398        THE  FATAL  DOWR^i 


Enter  Rochfort  and  Beaumont^ 

• 

iSeau.  Romont  will  come^  sir,  straight. 

Roch.  Tis  well. 

Beaumet.  My  father  1 

Nov.  jun.  My  honourable  lord. 

Aoch.  My  Iprd  Novall,  this  is  a  virtue  in  you  \ 
So  early  up  and  ready  before  noon, 
That  are  toe  map  of  dressing  through  all  France ! 

Ifov.jun.  I  rise  to  say  my  prayers,  sir;  here's 
my  saint. 

^och.  Tis  well  and  courtly  : — you  must  give 
me  leave, — 
I  have  some  private  conference  with  my  daughter; 
Pray  use  my  garden :  you  shall  dinis  with  me. 

Lilad.  We'll  wait  on  you. 

Nov.  jun.  Good  morn  unto  your  lordship  1 
Remember,  what  you  have  vow'd — 

{Aside  to  Beaumelle^ 

JBeaumet. — t^erform  1  must. 

[Exeunt  all  but  RoChfort  and  Beaumelk^ 

Roch.  Why,  how  now,  Beaumelle?*  thou  look'st 
not  well. 
Thou  art  sad  of  late ; — come^  cheer  thee,  1  hav6 

found 
A  wholesome  remedy  for  these  maiden  fits ; 
A  goodly  oak  whereon  to  twist  my  vine, 
Till  het  fair  branches  grow  up  to  the  stars. 
Be  near  at  hand.'—Success  crown  my  intent  I 
My  business  fills  my  little  time  sd  full, 
I  cannot  stand  to  talk  ;  I  know  thy  duty 
Is  handmaid  to  my  will,  especially 
When  it  presents  nothing  but  good  and  fiU 

4  Roch.  IVkif^  haw  nowy  Beaumelle  ?  thou  laok'st  not  wellJ]  It 
may  be  necessary  here  to  remind  the  reader  that  Massioget 
generaUy  uses  BcaumelU  as  a  trisyllable,  whicl^j  indeed,  is  its 
proper  measure. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         393 

BeaumeL  Sir,  I  am  yourgi — Oh!  if  my  fears 
prove  true, 
J'ate  hath  wrong'd  love,  and  will  destroy  me  too, 

{^Aside^  and  exit. 

j^nter  Romont  and  Gaoler. 

Jlom.  Sent  you  for  me,  sir? 

Roch.  Yes, 

Rom.  Your  lordship's  pleasure? 

Roch.  Keeper,  this  prisoner  I  will  see  forth- 
coming, 
Upon  my  word. — Sit  down,  good  colonel. 

\Exit  Gaoler. 
Why  I  did  wish  you  hither,  noble  sir, 
Is  to  advise  you  from  this  iron  carriage. 
Which,  so  affected,  Romont,  you  will  wear; 
To  pity,  and  to  counsel  you  submit 
With  expedition  to  the  great  Novall : 
Recant  your  stern  contempt,  and  slight  neglect 
Of  the  whole  court  and  him,  and  opportunely, 
Or  you  will  undergo  a  heavy  censure 
In  public,  very  shortly. 

Rom.  Reverend  sir, 
I  have  observed  you,  and  do  know  yqu  well; 
And  am  now  more  afraid  you  know  not  me, 
Py  wishing  my  submission  to  Novall, 
Than  I  can  be  of  all  the  bellowing  mouths 
That  wait  upon  him  to  pronounce  the  censure, 
Could  it  determine  me  torments  and  shame. 

Submit,  and  crave  forgiveness  of  a  beast ! 

'Tis  true,  this  boil  of  state  wears  purple  tissue, 
Is  high  fed,  proud  ;  so  is  his  lordship's  horse. 
And  bears. as  rich  caparisons.     I  know 
This  elephant  carries  on  his  back  not  only 
Towers,  castles,  but  the  ponderous  republic. 
And  never  stoops  fpr'^;  with  his  strong- breath'd 
trunk 


394        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Snuffs  others  titles,  lordships,  offices. 

Wealth,  bribes,  and  lives,  under  his  ravenous  jaws : 

What's  this  unto  my  freedom  ?  1  dare  die; 

And  therefore  ask  this  camel,*  if  these  blessings 

(For  so  they  would  be  understood  by  a  man) 

But  mollify  one  rudeness  in  his  nature, 

Sweeten  the  eager  relish  of  the  law. 

At  whose  great  helm  he  sits.    Helps  he  the  poor^ 

In  a  just  business?  nay,  does  he  not  cross 

Every  deserved  soldier  and  scholar, 

As  if,  when  nature  made  him,  she  had  made 

The  general  antipathy  of  all  virtue  ? 

How  savagely  and  blasphetnously  he  spake 

Touching  the  general,  the  brave  general  dead  ! 

I  must  weep  when  I  think  on't. 

Roch.  Sir. 

Rom,  My  lord, 
I  am  not  stubborn ;  I  can  melt,  you  see, 
And  prize  a  virtue  better  than  my  life : 
For  tnough  I  be  not  learn'd,  I  ever  loved 
That  holy  mother  of  all  issues  good. 
Whose  white  hand,  for  a  sceptre,  holds  a  file 
To  polish  roughest  customs ;  and,  in  you. 
She  has  her  right :  see  !  I  am  calm  as  sleep. 
But  when  1  think  of  the  gross  injuries, 
The  godless  wrong  done  to  my  general  dead, 
I  rave  indeed,  and  could  eat  this  Novall ; 
A  soulless  dromedary ! 

^och.  Oh  !  be  temperate. 
Sir,  though  I  would  persuade,  V\\  not  constrain: 
Each  man's  opinion  freely  is  his  own 
Concerning  any  thing,  or  any  body ; 
Be  it  right  or  wrong,  'tis  at  the  judge'^  peril. 

i  And  therefore  atk  thii  camel,  &c.J  In  his  indignation  (and 
it  is  the  indignation  of  virtne)  the  nndannted  Romont  passes 
rapidly  from  one  strong  metaphor  to  suotber.  This  is  perplex- 
ing; but  it  is  not  therefore  the  less  natural*- 


THE   FATAL   DOWRY.        S95 


Re-enter  Beaumont. 

Beau.  These  men,  sir,  wait  without;  my  lord 

is  come  too. 
Roch^  Pay  them  those  sums  upon  the  table;  take 
Their  full  releases: — stay,  I  want  a  witness. 
Let  me  entreat  you,  colonel,  to  walk  in, , 
And  stand  hut  by  to  see  this  money  paid ; 
It  does  concern  you  and  your  friend ;  it  was 
The  better  cause  you  were  sent  for,  though  said 

otherwise. 
The  deed  shall  make  .this  my  request  more  plain. 
>    Rom.  I  shall  obey  your  pleasure,  sir,  though 

Ignorant 
To  what  it  tends.  [Exeunt  Romont  and  Beaumont* 

Enter  Chabalois. 

Rock.  Worthiest  sir. 
You  are  most  welcome.     Fie,  no  more  of  this  ! 
You  have  outwept  a  woman,  noble  Charalois. 
No  man  but  has  or  must  bury  a  father. 

CharaL  Grave  sir,  I  buried  sorrow  for  his  death, 
In  the  grave  with  him.     I  did  never  think 
He  was  immortal — though  I  vow  I  grieve. 
And  see  no  reason  why  the  vicious, 
Virtuous,  valiant,  and  unworthy  man, 
Should  die  alike. 

Roch.  They  do  not. 

Charal.  In  the  manner 
Of  dying,  sir,  they  do  not;  but  all  die, 
And  therein  differ  not :— but  I  have  done. 
I  spied*  the  lively  picture  of  my  father, 

^  /  spied^  &e.^  Thk  is  a  pretty  circumstance,  and  is  calcn<- 
lated  not  only  to  shew  the  filial  piety  of  Charalois,  bat  to 
Interest  his  feelings  io  farour  of  Rochfort,  by  the  respect  shewn 
to  his  father. 


S96        THE   FATAL   DOWRY. 

Passing  your  gallery,  and  that  cast  this  water 
Into  mine  eyes :  See, — foolisb  that  I  am, 
To  let  it  do  so  ! 

Roch.  Sweet  and  gentle  nature ! 
How  silken  is  this  well/  comparatively 
To  other  men  !  [Aside,]  I  have  a  suit  to  you,  si|^. 
'  Charal.  Take  it,  'tis  granted. 

Roch.  What? 

Charal.  Nothing,  my  lord, 

Roch.  Nothing  is  quickly  granted. 

Charal.  Faith,  my  lord, 
Th^^t  nothing  granted  is  even  all  I  have, 
For,  all  know,  I  have  nothing  left  to  grant. 

Roch.  Sir,  have  you  any  suit  to  me?  I'll  grant 
You  something,  any  thing. 

Charal.  Nay,  surely,  I  that  can 
Give  nothing,  will  but  sue  for  that  again. 
No  man  will  grant  me  any  thing  I  sue  for, 
But  begging  nothing,  every  man  will  giye  it^ 

Roch.  Sir ! 
Th?  love  I  bore  your  father,  and  the  worth 

^  Hots  silken  i$  this  xocll^  &c.]  I  saspect  that  there  is  8oili4 
conception  in  this  passage ;  but  if  well  be  the  right  reading,  it  Hk 
a  qoaint  allusion  to  the  tears  of  Charalois,  and  must  be  consi- 
dered as  a  noun  substantive.     M.  Mason. 

I  know  not  what  Mr.  M.  Mason  means  by  conception;  bat 
whateyer  it  be,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  has  missed  the 
sense  of  the  passage,  such  as  it  is.  If  we  understand  well  tp 
signify  (as,  by  a  violent  hut  not  unprecedented  catachresis,  it 
may)  either  goodness  or  virtue^  the  matter  will  not  be  much 
mended ;  thqugh  that,  I  believe,  was  the  sense  in  i^rhich  the  author 
intended  it.  Spenser  certainly  uses  well  as  a  substantive. 
F.Q.  Lib.  I.e.  ii.  43: 

^f  That  may  restore  you  to  your  wonted  xuell;*^ 
But  he  is  too  licenttqus  in  his  orthography  to  be  made  authority 
in  a  point  of  language*  After  all,  it  is  a  forced  and  unnatural 
expression,  and  so  different  from  the  easy  and  flowing  style  of 
Massinger,  that  we  ^lay  set  it  down,  withc^t  scruple,  ^to  the 
account  of  his  associate. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  S97 

1  see  in  3'ou,  so  much  resembling  his. 
Made  me  thus  send  for  you : — and  tender  here, 
[Draws  a  curiam^  and  discwers  a  table  with 
money  andjeweis  upon  it. 
Whatever  you  will  take,  gold,  jewels,  both. 
All*  to  supply  your  wants,  and  free  yourself. 
Where  heavenly  virtue  in  high-blooded  veins 
ts  lodged,  and  can  agree,  men  should  kneel  down, 
Adore,  and  sacrifice  all  that  they  have ; 
And  well  they  may,  it  is  so  seldom  seen. — 
Put  off  your  wonder,  and  here  freely  take. 
Or  send  your  servants :  nor,  sir,  shall  you  use. 
In  aught  of  this,  a  poor  man's  fee,  or  bribe 
Unjustly  taken  of  the  rich,  but  what's 
jDirectly  gotten,  and  yet  by  the  law. 

QharaL  How  ill,  sir,  it  becomes. those  hairs  to 

mock ! 

Roch.  Mock  !  thunder  strike  me  then! 

CharaL  You  do  ams^ze  me  : 
3ut  yoii  shall  wonder  too.     1  will  not  take 
One  single  piece  of  this  great  heap.  Why  should  I 
Borrow,  that  have  no  means  to  pay  ?  nay,  am 
A  very  bankrupt,  even  in  flattering  hope 
Of  ever  raising  any.     All  my  begging, 
Is  Romont's  liberty, 

Jle-enter  Romont  and  Beaumont,  with  Creditors. 

Roch.  Here  is  your  friend, 
Enfranchised  ere  you  spake.   I  give  him  to  you ; 
And,  Charaloisi,  I  give  you  to  your  friend, 
As  free  a  man  as  he.    Vour  father's  debts 
Are  taken  off. 

CharaL  How! 

Ram.  Sir,  it  is  most  true  ; 
J  am  the  witness. 

1  Cred*  Yes,  faith,  we  are  paid. 


SP8         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

S  Cred.  Heaven  bless  his  lordship  !  I  did  think 

him  wiser. 
3  Crcd,  He  a  statesman !  he  an  ass.    Pay  other 

men's  debts ! 
1  Cred.  That  he  was  never  bound  for. 
Rom.  One  more  such 
Would  save  the  rest  of  pleaders. 

Choral.  Honour'd  Rochfort — — 

Liestill,my  tongue,and^  blushes,  scald  my  cheeks/ 

That  offer  thanks  in  words,  for  such  great  deeds. 

Roch.  Call  in  my  daughter.  Still  I  have  a  suit 

to  you,  [Exit  Beaumont. 

Would  you  requite  me. 

Rom.  With  his  life,  I  assure  you. 
Roch.  Nay,   would  you  make  me  now  your 
debtor^  sir 

Rcrfinter  Beauhont  with  Beaxjmelle. 

This  is  my  only  child  :  what  she  appears, 
Your  lordship  well  may  see :  her  education 
Follows  not  any  ;*  for  her  mind,  I  know  it 
To  be  far  fairer  than  her  shape,  and  hope 
It  will  continue  so.     If  now  her  birth 
Be  not  too  mean  for  Charalois,  take  her,  take 

*  Lie  stilly  mtf  tongue^  and^  blushes^  scald  my  cheeks^  This  line^ 
in  the  old  copy,  may  rival  some  of  Shakspeare's  in  typographical 
neatness : 

Lyt  stiU  my  ioung  and  hushes^  caVd  my  cheeket. 
9  ■   I  what  she  appears^  . 

Tour  lordship  well  may  see :  her  education 
Follows  not  any  ;]  i.  e.  is  not  inferior  to  any.    The  modem 
editors  hare, 

Your  lordship  well  may  see :  for  education  ^  BeaameUe 
Follows  not  any. 
This  strange  line  is  not  in  the  old  copy,  which  reads  as  I  have 
given  it.   Coxeter  adopted  Beanmelle  from  the  margin,  and  Mr. 
M.  Mason  altered  the  text  that  he  might  continue  it.     Coiikl 
nothing  persuade  this  .gentleman  to  turn  to  the  original  ? 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  ^ 

This  .virgin  by  the  hand,  and  call  her  Wife, 
Endowed  with  all  my  fortunes.     Bless  ine  so: 
Kequite  me  thus,  and  make  me  happier, 
In  joining  my  poor  empty  name  to  yours, 
Than  if  my  state  were  multiplied  tenfold. 

Charal.   Is   this   the   payment,  sir,  that  you 
expect! 
Why,  you  precipitate  me  more  in  debt, 
That  nothing  but  my  life  can  ever  pay. 
This  beauty  being  your  daughter,  in  wnicli  tours 
I  must  conceive  necessity  of  her  virtue. 
Without  all  dowry  is  a  prince's  aim  : 
Then,  as  she  is,  for  poor  and  worthless  me 
How  much  too  .worthy  j  Waken  me,  Romont, 
That  I  may  know  IdreamM,  and  find  this  vaui^h'd. . 

Rom.  Sure,  I  sleep  not. 

Roch.  Your  sentence — life  or  death. 

Charal.  Fair  Beaumelle,  can  you  love  me  ? 

BeaumeL  Yes,  m}'  lord. 

• 

Enter  Novall  jurnor^  Pontalier,  Malotin^ 
LiLADAM,  and  At  me  a.    They  all  salute. 

CharaL  You  need  not  question  me  if  I  can  you : 
You  are  the  fairest  virgin  in  Dijon, 
And  Rochfort  is  your  father. 

Nov.Jun.  What's  this  change?  [Aside. 

Roch.  You  iiieet  my  wishes,  gentlemen. 

Rom.  What  make 
These  dogs  in  doublets  here  ? 

Beau.  A  visitation,  sir. 

Charal.  Then  thus,  fair  Beaumelle,!  write  my 
faith. 
Thus  seal  it  in  the  sight  of  heaven  and  men ! 
Your  fingers  tie  my  heart-strings  with  this  touch. 
In  true-love  knots,  which  nought  but  death  shall 
loose. 


400         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

And  let  these  tears/  an  emblem  of  our  loves^ 

Like  crystal  rivers  individually 

Flow  into  one  another,  make  one  source. 

Which  never  man  distinguish,  less  divide ! 

Breath  marry  breath,  and  kises  mingle  souls,^ 

TwQ  hearts  and  bodies  here  incorporate  \ 

And,  though  with  little  wooing  I  have  won, 

My  future  life  shall  be  a  wooing  time, 

And  every  day  new  as  the  bridal  one. 

Oh,  sir !  I  groan  under  your  courtesies, 

More  than  my  father's  bones  under  his  wrongs  : 

You,  Curtius  like,  have  thrown  into  the  gulf 

Of  this  bis  country's  foul  ingratitude, 

Your  life  and  fortunes,  to  redeem  their  shames. 

Roek.  No  more,  my  glory  i  come,  let's  in,  and 
hasten 
This  celebration. 

Rem.  Mai.  Pont.  Beau.  All  fair  bliss  upon  it ! 

[Exeunt  Rochforfj  CharaUns^  Romont,  Beaumfmi^ 
and  Malotin^ 
,  Nov.jun.  [As  Beaumelle  is  going  out.]  Mistress  I 

BeaumeL  Oh,  servant! — Virtue  strengthen  me  I 
Thy  presence  blows  round  my  affection's  vane: — 
You  will  undo  me,  if  you  speak  again.       [Ej^t. 

Lilad.  Aym.  Here  will  be  sport  for  you !  this 
wor^s.  [Exeunt. 

N&o.jun.  Peace!  peace! 

Pont.  One  word,  my  lord  Novall. 

Nov.jun.  What,  thou  wouldst  money  ? — ^there  I 

Pont.  No,  I  will  none;  I'll  not  be  bought  a  slave, 
A  pander,  or  a  parasite,  for  all 
Your  father's  worth.  Though  you  have  saved  my 
life, 

*  And  let  these  tears^  &c.]  So  Rove : 
^<  Are  you  not  mix'd  like  streams  of  meeting  rivers., 
'^  Whose  blended  waters  are  no  more  distinrgnish'd, 
^^  Bnt  roll  into  the  sea,  one  common  flood  ?"   Fair  Penitent. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 


401 


kescued  me.  often  from  my  wants,  I  mudt  not 

Wjnk  at  your  follies  :  that  will  ruin  you. 

You  kno>¥  my  blunt  way*  and  my  love  to  truth— 

iPorsake  the  pursuit  of  thii  lady's  honour^ 

Now  you  do  see  her  made  another  man's. 

And  such  a  man's,  so  good>  so  popular ! 

Or  you  will  pluck  a  thousand  mischiefs  on  you. 

The  benefits  you  haye  done  itie  are  not  lost, 

Nor  ca^t  away>  they  are  purs'd  here  in  my  heart ; 

But  let  me  pay  you,  sir,  a  fairer  Way> 

Than  to  defend  your  vices,  or  to  sooth  them. 

No^.jm.  Ha,  hai  what  are  my  courses  unto 
thee  ?— ^» 
Good  cousin  Pontalier^  meddle  with  that 
That  shall  concern  thyself.  [Exit 

Pont.  No  more  but  scorn  \ 

Move  on  then,  stars,  work  your  jpefnicious  will : 

Only  the  wise  rule,  and  prevent  your  ill.   [Ejnt. 

[Here  a  passage  owr  the  stage^  while  the  act  is 

playing  for  the  marriage  ofCharalois  with 

Beaumdle^  ^(\ 


.dk. 


ACT  III.    SCENE  t 
A  Room  in  Charalois^  House. 

Enter  ^ov  all  junior,  and  Bellapert. 

Nov.jun.  Fly  not  to  these  excuses;  thou  hast 
been 
JPalsc  in  thy  promise — and,  when  I  have  said 
Ungrateful,  all  is  spoken* 

Beli.  Good  my  lord, 
But  hear  mc  only. 


409         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Noiv.jun.  To  what  purpose,  trifler  ? 
Can  any  thing  that  thou  canst  say  make  void 
The  marriagCi  or  those. pleasures  but  a  dream. 
Which  Charalois,  oh  Venus !  hath  enjoy'd  ? 

BelL  I  yet  could  say  that  you  receive  advantage 
In  what  you  think  a  loss,  would  you  vouchsafe  me ; 
Tiiat  you  were  never  in  the  way,  till  now, 
With  safety  to  arrive  at  your  desires ; 
That  pleasure  makes  love  to  you,  unattended 
By  danger  or  repentance. 

Nav.Jun.  That  I  could 
But  apprehend. one  reason  how  this  might  be! 
Hope  would  not  then  forsake  me. 

Bell.  The  enjoying. 
Of  what  you  most  desire,  I  sav  the  enjoying, 
Shall,' in  the  full  possession  of  your  wishes, 
Confirm  that  I  am  faithful. 

Nav.jun.  Give  some  relish 
How  this  may  appear  possible. 

Bell.  I  will. 
Relish  and  taste,  and  make  the  banquet  easy. ' 
•You  say  my  lady's  married, — I  confess  it ; 
That  Charalois  hath  enjoy'd  her; — 'tis  most  true: 
Tliat,  with  her,  he's  already  master  of 
The  best  part  of  my  old  lord's  state — still  better. 
But,  that  the  first  or  la&t  should  be  your  hinder* 

ance, 
I  utterly  deny ;  for,  but  observe  me ; 
While  she  went  for,  and  was,  I  swear,  a  virgin, 
What  courtesy  could  she,  with  her  honour,  give^ 
Or  you  receive  with  safety  ! — take  me  with  you  2 
When  I  say  courtesy,  do  not  think  I  mean 
A  kiss,  the  tying  of  her  shoe  or  garter. 
An  hour  of  private  conference;  those  are  trifles. 
In  this  word  courtesy  we,  that  are  gamesters, 

point  at 
The  sport  direct,  where  not  alone  the  lover 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.        403 

Brings  his  artillery,  but  uses  it ; 

Which  word  expounded  to  you,  such  a  courtesy 

Do  you  expect,  and  sudden. 

Nov.  jun.  But  he  tasted 
The  first  sweets,  Bellapert 

BelL  He  wrong'd  you  shrewdly ! 
He  toird  to  climb  up  to  the  phcenix'  nest, 
And  in  his  prints  leaves  your  ascent  more  easy. 
I  do  not  know,  you  that  are  perfect  critics 
In  women's  books,  may  talk  of  maidenheads-^ 

Nov.  jun.  But  for  her  marriage  ! 

BelL  Tis  a  fair  protection 
'Gainst  all  arrests  of  fear  or  shame  for  ever. 
Such  as  are  fair,  and  yet  not  foolish,  study 
To  have  one  at  thirteen  ;  but  they  are  mad 
That  stay  till  twenty.    Then,  sir,  for  the  pleasurCi 
To  say  adultery's  sweeter,  that  is  stale ; 
This  only — is  not  the  contentment  more. 
To  say.  This  is  my  cuckold,  than  my  rival  ? 
More  I  could  say — but  briefly,  she  doats  on  you ; 
If  it  prove  otherwise,  spare  not ;  poison  me, 
With  the  next  gold  you  give  me. 

Enter  Beaumelle. 

BeaumeL  How's  this,  servant  I 
Courting  my  woman  ? 

BelL  As  an  entrance  to 
The  favour  of  the  mistress.    You  are  together ; 
And  I  am  perfect  in  my  cue.  [Going, 

BeaumeL  Stay,  Bellapert. 

BelL  In  this  I  must  not,  with  your  leave,  obey 

Your  tailor  aud  your  tirewoman  wait  without. 
And  stay  my  counsel  and  direction  for 
Your  next  day's  dressing.     I  have  much  to  do, 
Nor  will  your  ladyship,  now  time  is  preciouS| 


404        THE  FATAL  DOWRY, 

Continue  idle ;  this  choice  lord  will  find 

So  fit  employment  for  you !  [ExU^ 

BeaumeL  I  shall  grow  angry. 

Nov.jun.  Not  so;  you  have  a  jewel  in  her> 
madanik 

Re-eMer  fiisLLAt>£Rf • 

bell.  I  had  fdrgot  to  tell  your  ladyship 
The  closet  isprivate^  and  your  couch  [there]  ready  j 
Andy  if  you  please  that  I  shall  lose  the  key, 
But  say  so,  and  'tis  done.  [Exit^ 

BeaumeL  You  come  to  chide  me,  servant,  and 
bring  with  you 
Sufficient  warranto    You  will  say,  and  truly, 
My  father  found  too  much  obedience  in  me^ 
by  being  won  too  soon ;  yet,  if  yoii  please 
But  to  remember  all  my  hopes  and  fortunes 
Had  reference  to  his  likings  you  will  grant, 
That  though  I  did  not  well  towards  you,  I  yet 
Did  wisely  for  my  myself. 

Nov.jun.  With  too  much  fervour 
I  have  so  long  loved,  and  still  love  you^  tnistfess^ 
To  esteem  that  an  injury  to  me. 
Which  was  to  you  convenient : — that  is  past 
My  help,  is  past  my  cure.    You  yet  may^  lady, 
In  recompense  of  all  my  duteous  service, 
(Provided  that  your  will  answer  your  pb\yer,) 
Become  my- c red i tress. 

BeaumeL  I  understand  you ; 
And  for  assurance  the  request  you  make 
Shall  not  be  long  unanswered, — pray  you  sit} 
And  by  what  you  shall  hear,  you'll  easily  find, 
My  passions  are  much  fitter  to  desire^ 
Than  to  be  sued  to*  \They  court. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.        405 

Enter  Romokt  aniFLOsiMEL  behind. 

Flor.  Sir,  it  is  not  envy  • 

At  the  start  my  fellow  has  got  of  me  in 
My  lady's  good  opinion,  that's  the  motive 
Of  this  discovery ;  but  the  due  payment  ^ 

Of  what  I  owe  her  honour. 

Rom.  So  I  conceive  it. 

Flor.  I  have  observed  too  much,  nor  shall  my 
silence 

Prevent  the  remedy  i ^Yonder  they  are ; 

I  dare  not  be  seen  with  you.     You  may  do 
What  you  think  fit,  which  will  be,  I  presum^e, 
The  office  of  a  faithful  and  tried  friend 
To  my  young  lord.  [Emt. 

Rom.  This  is  no  vision :  ha ! 

Nov.jun.  With  the  next  opportunity  ? 

Beaumel.  By  this  kiss,» 
And  this,  and  this. 

Nov.jun.  That  you  would  ever  swear  thus! 

Rom.  [comes  forward.^   If  I  seem  rude>  your 
pardon,  lady ;  yours 
I  do  not  ask :  come ;  do  not  dare  to  shew  mt^ 
A  face  of  anger,  or  the  least  disliker 
Put  on,  and  suddenly,  a  milder  look^ 
I  shall  grow  rough  else, 

Nov.jun.  What  have  I  done,  sir, 
To  draw  this  harsh  unsavoury  language  from  you? 

Rom.  Done,  popinjay !  why,  dost  thou  thinfci 
that,  if 
I  e'er  had  dreamt  that  thou  hadst  done  me  wrong. 
Thou  shouldst  outlive  it? 

Beaumel.  This  is  something  more 
Than  my  lord's  friendship  gives  commbftion  fon 

Nov.jun.  Your  presence «and  the  place  makt 
him  presume 
Upon  my  patience. 

VOL.  III.  *  E  e 


406         THE  FATA^  DOWRY- 

Rom.  As  if  thou  e'er  wert  angry 
But  with  thy  tailor!  and  yet  that  poor  shred 
Can  bring  more  to  the  making  up  of  a  man, 
Than  can  be  hoped  from  thee:    thou  art  hiw 

creature ; 
And  did  he  not,  each  morning,  new  create  thee, 
Thou'dst  stink,  and  be  forgotten.  1*11  not  change 
One  syllable  more  with  thee,  until  thou  bring 
Some  testimony,  under  good  men*s  hands, 
Thou  art  a  Christian :  I  suspect  thee  strongly, 
And  will  be  satisfied ;  till  which  time,  keiep  from 

me.— 
The  entertainment  of  your  visitation, 
Has  made  what  I  intended  one,  a  business. 

Nm.jun.  So !  we  shall  meet. — Madam. 

Ram.  Use  tnat  le^  again 
And  111  cut  off  the  other. 

Nbv.jun.  Very  good.  •  [-EriV. 

Ram.  What  a  perfume  the   muskcat  leaves 
behind  him  1 
Do  you  admit  him  for  a  property, 
To  save  you  charges,  lady  ?   • 

BeaufneL  Tis  not  useless, 
Now  you  are  to  succeed  him. 

Rom.  So  I  respect  you,* 
Not  for  yourself,  but  in  remembrance  of 
Who  is  your  father,  and  whose  wife  you  now  arc. 
That  I  choose  rather  not  to  understand 
Your  nasty  seofT,  than 

•  Rom.  fVhat  a  perfume  the  muskcat  leaoes  htUndhim  ! 
Jjoyou  admit  him  for  a  property ^ 
To  tape  you  charge*^  lady  f 

Beau.  *Tis  not  useless j 
Now  you  are  to  succeed  him. 

Rom.  So  1  respect  you^  Ac]  These  two  speeches  were  inad. 
Tertently  omitted  by  Mr.  M.  Mason  :  it  wab  the  more  unfortu^ 
■«t#,  ai  le? era!  of  the  sacceeding  lines  depended  on  them. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.        407 

SeaumeL  What,  you  will  not  beat  me 
If  I  expound  it  to  you  I  Here's  a  tyrant 
Spares  neither  man  nor  woman  \f 

Rom.  My  intents, 
Madam,  deserve  not  this  ;  nor  do  I  stay 
To  be  the  whetstone  of  your  wit :  jwcseryc  it 
To  spend  on  such  as  know  how  to  admire 
Such  coloured  stuff.    In  me,  there  now  speaks  to 

you, 
As  truQ  a  friend  and  servant  to  your  honour, 
And  one  that  wiU^with  as  much  hazard  g^uard  it, 

As  ever  man  did  goodness : but  then,  lady, 

You  must  endeavour  not  alone  to  be. 

But  to  APPEAR,  worthy  such  love  and  service. 

Beaumel.  To  what  tends  this  ? 

Rom.  Why,  to  this  purpose,  lady. 
I  do  desire  you  should  prove  f^uch  a  wife 
To  Charalois  (and  such  a  one  he  merits) 
As  Csesar,  did  he  live,  could  not  except  at; 
Not  only  innocent  from  crime,  but  free 
From  all  taint  and  suspicion. 

Beaumel.  They  are  base 
That  judge  me  otherwise. 

Rom.  But  yet  be  careful : 
Detraction's  a  bold  monster,  and  fears  not 
To  wound  the  fame  of  princes,  if  it  find 
But  anv  blemish  in  their  lives  to  work  on. 
But  I'll  be  plainer  with  you  :  had  the  people 
Been  learn 'd  to  speak  but  what  even  now  I  saw, 
Their  malice  out  of  that  would  raise  an  engine 
To  overthrow  your  honour.    In  my  sight. 
With  yonder  painted  fool  I  frighted  from  you, 
You  used  familiarity  beyond 
A  modest  entertainment :  you  embraced  him 
With  too  much  ardour  for  a  stranger,  and 
Met  him  with  kisses  neither  chaste  nor  comely. 
,  But  learn  you  to  forget  him,  as  I  will 

♦Eea 


408         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Your  bounties  to  him ;  you  will  find  it  safer 
Rather  to  be  uncourtly  than  immodest. 

Beaumel.  This  pretty  rag'  about  your  neck 
shews  well, 
And,  being  coarse  and  little  worth,  it  speaks  you 
As  terrible  as  thrifty. 

Riym.  Madam  ! 

Beaumel.  Yes : 
And  this  strong  belt,  in  which  you  hang  your 

honour, 
Will  outlast  twenty  scarfs. 

Ram.  What  mean  you,  lady  ? 

BeaumeL  And  [then] all  else  about  you  cap-^-pi^^ 
So  uniform  in  spite  of  handsomeness, 
Shews  such  a  bold  contempt  of  comeliness. 
That  'tis  not  strange  your  laundress  in  the  leaguer^ 
Grew  mad  with  love  of  you. 

Rom.  Is  my  free  counsel 
Answered  with  this  ridiculous  scorn  ? 

Beaumel.  These  objects 
Stole  very  much  of  my  attention  from  me ; 
Yet  something  I  remember,  to  speak  truth, 
Deliver'd  gravely,  but  to  little  purpose, 
That  almost  would  have  made  me  swear  some 

curate 
Had  stolen  into  the  person  of  Romont, 
And,  in  the  praise  of  goodwife  honesty. 
Had  read  an  homily. 

Rom.  By  this  hand 

BeaumeL  And  sword, 

'  Beaumel.  This  pretty  rag  ahmttyour  neck  shews  weff,]  Thert 
it  an  allusion  to  thit  rag  at  p.  391. 

^'  What,  he  that  wears  a  clout  about  hia  neck  i*' 

♦  That  'Us  not  strange  your  laundress  in  the  leaguer]  i.  -e.  in 
the  camp.  So  Lithgow,  apologizing  for  the  rudeness  of  his 
style,  desires  his  readers  "  to  impute  the  faults  thereof  to  a 
disordered  leaguer.''  His  narratif e  was  written  at  the  si^e  of 
Breda,    See  the  Pietun. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         4(® 

I  will  make  up  your  oath,  it  will  want  weight 

else. — 
You  are  angry  with  me,  and  poor  I  laugh  at  it. 
Do  you  come  from  the  camp,  which  affords  only 
The  conversation  of  cast  suburb  whores. 
To  set  down,  to  a  lady  of  my  rank, 
Limits  of  entertainment  ? 

Rom.  Sure  a  legion 
Has  posscst  this  woman ! 
BeaumeL  One  stamp  more  would  do  well:  yet 

I  desire  not 
You  should  grow  horn-mad  till  you  have  a  wife. 
You  arc  come  to  warm  meat,  and  perhaps  clean 

linen ; 
Feed,  wear  it,  and  be  thankful.    For  me,  know, 
That  though  a  thousand  watches  were  set  on  me. 
And  you.  the  master-spy,  I  yet  would  use 
The  liberty  that  best  likes  me.    I  will  revel, 
Feast^  kiss,  embrace,  perhaps  grant  largerfavours; 
Yet  such  as  live  upon  my  means  shall  know 
They  must  not  murmur  at  it.    If  my  lord 
Be  now  grown  yellow,  and  has  chose  out  you 
To  serve  his  jealousy  this  way,  tell  him  this : 
You  have  something  to  inform  him.  [Exit. 

Rom.  And  I  will ; 
Believe  it,  wicked  one,  I  will.    Hear,  heaven, 
But,  hearing,  pardon  me! — if  these  fruits  grow 
Upon  the  tree  of  marriage,  let  me  shun  it, 
As  a  forbidden  sweet.    An  heir,  and  rich, 
Youngi  beautiful,  yet  add  to  this — a  wife, 
And  I  will  rather  choose  a  spittle*  sinner 
Carted  an  age  before,  though  three  parts  rotten^ 
And  take  it  for  a  blessing,  rather  than 
Be'  fettered  to  the  hellish  slavery 
Of  such  an  impudence. 

5  And  I  will  rather  choose  a  spittle  sinner']  For spiitkfMt.M* 
Mason  reads,  spttal^  as  usual,  and  is,  as  usual,*  wron^.     See  tht 
,  Citif  Madam. 


410        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Enter  Beaumont  with  writings. 

Beau.  Colonel,  good  fortune 
To  meet  you  thus !  You  look  sad;  but  I'll  tell  you  ' 
Something  that  shall  remove  it.    O,  how  happy 
Is  my  lord  Charalois  in  his  fair  bride! 

Ram.  A  happy  man^  indeed !— -pray  you,  in 
what? 

Beau.  I  dare  swear,  you  would  think  so  good 
a  lady 
A  dower  sufficient. 

Ram.  No  doubt    But,  on. 

Beau.    So  fair,  so  chaste,  so  virtuous,  so — 
indeed, 
All  that  is  excellent ! 

Ram.  Women  have  no  cunning 
To  gull  the  world  !  [Asidi^: 

Beau.  Yet,  to  all  these,  my  lord, 
Her  father,  gives  the  full  addition  of 
All  he  does  now  possess  in  Burgundy: 
The^e  writings,  to  confirm  it,  are  new  seal'd, 
And  I  most  mrtunate  to  present  him  with  them  ; 
I  must  go  seek  him  out.    Can  you  direct  me? 

Ram.  You'll  find  him  breaking  a  young  horse. 

Beau.  I  thank  you.  [£«i*iV« 

Ram.  I  must  do  something  worthy  Charalois' 
friendship. 
If  she  were  well  inclined,  to  keep  her  so 
Deserved  not  thanks;  and  yet,  to  stay  a  woina& 
Spurr'd  headlong  by  hot  lust  to  her  own  ruin, 
Is  harder  than  to  prop  a  falling  tower 
With  a  deceiving  reed. 

Enter  Rochfoet,  speaking  ta  a  Servant  within* 

Rack.  Some  one  seek  for  me 
As  soon  as  he  returns. 
Ram.  Her  father  ?  ha  ! 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         411 

How  if  I  break  this  to  him  ?  sure  it  cannot 
Meet  with  an  ill  construction :  his  wisdom, 
Made  powerful  by  the  authority  of  a  father, 
Will  warrant  and  give  privilege  to  his  counsels 
It  shall  be  so. — My  lord! 

Roch.  Your  friend,  Romont 
Would  you  aught  with  me  ? 

Rom.  I  stand  so  engaged 
To  your  so  many  favours,  that  I  hold  it 
A  breach  in  thankfulness,  should  I  not  discover^ 
Thoiigh  with  some  imputation  to  myself, 
All  doubts  that  may  concern  you. 

Roch.  The  performance 
Will  make  this  protestation  worth  my  thanks. 

Rom.  Then,  with  your  patience,  lend  me  your 
attention  : 
,For  what  I  must  deliver,  whisper'd  only, 
You  will  with  too  much  grief  receive. 

Enter  Beaumelle  and  Bellapebt,  behind. 

BeaumeL  See,  wench  1 
Upon  my  life,  as  I  forespake,  he's  now 
Preferring  his  complaint ;  but  be  thou  perfect, 
And  we  will  fit  him. 

Belt.  Fear  not  me ;  pox  on  him  ! 
A  captain  turn  informer  against  kissing ! 
Would  he  were  bang'd  up  in  his  rusty  armour  I — 
But,  if  our  fresh  wits  cannot  turn  the  plots 
Of  such  a  mouldy  murrion  on  itself. 
Rich  clothes,  choicefare,  anda true  friend  ata  call. 
With  all  the  pleasures  the  night  yields,  forsake  us! 

Roch.  This  in  my  daughter !  do  not  wrong  her* 

Bell.  Now 
Begin  :  the  game's  afoot,  and  we  in  distance* 

Beaumel.  [corner forward.]  Tis  thy  fault,  foolish 
girl  !  pin  on  my-veil, 


41£         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

I  will  not  wear  those  jewels.     Am  I  not 
Already  matched  beyond  my  hopes  ?  yet  still 
You  prune  and  set  me  forth,  as  if  I  virere 
Again  to  please  a  suitor. 

BelL  Tis  the  course 
That  our  great  ladies  take. 

Beaumel.  A  weak  excuse  !^ 
Those  that  are  better  seen  in  what  concerns 
>A  lady*s  honour  and  fair  fame,  condemn  it. 
You  wait  well!  in  your  absence,  my  lord's  friend. 
The  understanding,  grave,  and  wise  Romont— — 

Ram    Must  I  be  still  her  sport? 

Beaumel.  Reproved  me  for  it ; 
And  he  has  trafeird  to  bring  home  a  judgment 
Not  to  be  contradicted.    You  will  say 
My  father,  that  owes  more  to  years  than  he, 
Has  brought  me  up  to  music,  language,  courtship, 
And  I  must  use  them  :  true ;  but  not  to  offend, 
Or  render  me  suspected. 

Roch.  Does  your  fine  story 
Begin  from  this  ? 

ieaumeL  I  thought  a  parting  kiss 
From  young  Novall  would  have  displeased  no 

more 
Than  heretofore  it  hath  done ;  but  I  find 
I  must  restrain  such  favours  now;  look,  therefore, 
As  you  are  careful  to  continue  mine, 
That  I  no  more  be  visited.     1*11  endure 
The  strictest  course  of  life  that  jealousy 
Can  think  secure  enough,  ere  my  behaviour 
Shall  call  my  fame  in  question. 

Rom.  Ten  dissemblers 
Are  in  this  subtle  devil !  You  believe  this  ? 

^  Beaumel.  A  weak  excuse  /]  This  hemistich  has  been  hitherto 
giten  to  Romont.  It  is  evident,  to  me  at  least,  that  it  belongs 
to  Beaumelle.  Romont  could  not  call  what  Bellaperi  had 
urged,  a  male  excuse^  for  he  was  ignorant  of  its  drift 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         4IS 

Rock.  So  far,  that  if  you  trouble  me  again 
With  a  report  like  this,  I  shall  not  only 
Judge  you  malicious  in  your  disposition, 
Bat  study  to  repent  what  I  have  done 
To  such  a  nature. 

Rom.  Why,  'tis  exceeding  well, 

Roch»  And  for  you,  daughter,  off  with  this,  off 
with  it  I 
I  have  that  confidence  in  your  goodness,  I, 
That  I  will  not  consent  to  have  you  live 
Like  to  a  recluse  in  a  cloister:  Go, 
Call  in  the  gallants,  let  them  make  you  merry ; 
Use  all  fit  liberty. 

Bell.  Blessing  upon  you ! 
If  this  new  preacher  with  the  sword  and  feather 
Could  prove  his  doctrine  for  canonical. 
We  should  have  a  fine  world.  [£anV« 

Roch.  Sir,  if  you  please 
To  bear  yourself  as  fits  a  gentleman. 
The  house  is  at  your  service ;  but,  if  not, 
Though   you   seek    company    elsewhere,    your 

absence 
Will  not  be  much  lamented.  {Ejnt. 

Rom.  If  this  be 
The  recompense  of  striving  to  preserve 
A  wanton  gigglet  honest,  very  shortly 
'Twill  make  all  mankind  panders. — Do  you  smile. 
Good  lady  looseness !  your  whole  sex  is  like  you, 
And  that  man's  mad  that  seeks  to  better  any : 
What  new  change  have  you  next? 

BeaumeU  Oh,  fear  not  you,  sir ; 
I'll  shift  into  a  thousand,  but  I  will 
Convert  your  heresy. 

Rom.  What  heresy?  speak. 

BeaumeL  Of  keeping  a  lady  that  is  married. 
From  entertaining  servants- 


414         THE  FATAL  DOWRY: 

Enter  Novall  junior^  Malotin,  LiladaHj^ 

AyMER,  a;7l/ PONTALIEfU 

-—  O,  you  are  welcome! 

Use  any  means  to  vex  him, 

And  then  with  w:elcome  follow  me* 

Aside  to  them,  and  exit, 

Nov.  Jan.  You  are  tired 
With  your  grave  exhortations,  colonel ! 

Lilad,  How  is  it  ?  faith,  your  lordship  may  do 
well 
Td  help  him  to  some  church  preferment :  'tis 
The  fashion  now  for  men  of  all  conditions, 
However  they  have  lived,  to  end  that  way.. 

Aym.  That  face  would  do  well  in  a  surplice. 

Rom.  Rogues, 
Be  silent — or — 

Pont.  'Sdeath  !  will  you  suffer  this?' 

Rom.  And  you,  the  master-rogue,  the  coward 
rascal, 
i  shall  be  with  you  suddenly. 

Nov.Juns  Pon taller. 
If  I  should  strike  him,  I  know  I  should  kill  him ; 
And  therefore  I  would  have  thee  beat  him,  for 
He's  good  for  nothing  else. 

Lilad.  His  back 
Appears  to  me,  as  it  would  tire  a  beadle  ; 
And  then  he  has  a  knotted  brow,  would  bruise 
A  courtlike  hand  to  touch  it. 

7  Pont.  'Sdeath  !  will  you  sniffer  this  f]  lif assinger  has  pre- 
•erred  the  character  of  Pontalier  from  coDtamination,  with  great 
dexterity,  through  every  scene.  He  is  here  the  only  one  (with 
the  exception  of  Malotin)  who  does  not  insult  Romont,  though 
he  appears  to  feel  some  indignation  at  the  contempt  with  which 
Novall  and  his  followers  are  treated  by  him.  He  is  grateful,  but 
not  obsequiotis ;  and  rather  the  affectionate  tutor  than  the  agent 
of  his  young  lord,  for  whose  honour  he  is  more  solicitous  thim 
for  his  own  advantage. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         415 

Aym.  He  looks  like 
A  currier  when  his  hides  grow  dear. 

Pont.  Take  heed 
He  curry  not  some  of  you. 

Nav.jun.  Gads  me  !  he's  angry. 

Rom.  I  break  uo  jests  j  but  I  can  break  my  sword: 
About  your  pates. 

Enter  Charaiois  and  Beaumont. 

Lilad.  Here's  more.  . 

Aym.  Come,  let's  be  gone : 
We  are  beleaguer'd. 

I^ov.jun.  Look,  they  bring  up  their  troops. 

Pont.  Will  you  sit  down 
With  this  disgrace?  you  are  abused  most  grossly. 

Lilad.  I. grant  you,  sir,  we  are ;  and  you  would 
have  us 
Stay,  and  be  more  abused. 

Nbv.Jun.  My  lord,  I'm  sorry 
Your  house  is  so  inhospitable,  we  must  quit  it. 

[Exeunt  all  but  CharaUns  and  Romont. 

Charal.  Prithee,   Romont,  what  caused  thi» 
uproar  ? 

Roni.  Nothing; 
They  laugh'd,  and  used  their  scurvy  wits  upon  me* 

Charal.  Come,  'tis  thy  jealous  nature :  but  I 
wonder 
•That  you,  which  are  an  honest  man  and  worthy^ 
Should  foster  this  suspicion :  no  man  laughs, 
No  one  can  whisper,  but  thou  apprehend 'st 
His  conference  and  his  scorn  reflect  on  thee : 
For  my  part,  they  should  scoff  their  thin  wits  out, 
So  I  not  heard  them  ;  beat  me,  not  being  there. 
Leave,  leave  these  fits  to  conscious  men,  to  such 
As  are  obnoxious  to  those  foolish  things 
As  they  can  gibe  at. 


416         THE  FATAL  DOWHY. 

Ram.  Well,  sir. 

CharaL  Thou  art  known 
Valiant  without  defect,  rightly  defined, 
Which  is  as  fearing  to  do  injury, 
As  tender  to  endure  it ;  not  a  brabbler, 
A  swearer 

Rom.  Pish,  pish  !  what  needs  this,  my  loi^d  ?  ^ 
If  I  be  known  none  such,  how  vainly  you 
Do  cast  away  good  counsel !  I  have  loved  you, 
And  yet  must  freely  speak ;  so  young  a  tutor 
Fits  not  so  old  a  soldier  as  I  am  : 
And  I  nqust  tell  you,  'twas  in  your  behalf 
I  grew  enraged  thus,  yet  had  rather  die 
Than  open  tne  great  cause  a  syllable  further. 

CharaL  In  my  behalf !  Wherein  hath  Charaloir 
Unfitly  so  demean'd  himself,  to  give 
The  least  occasion  to  the  loosest  tongue 
To  throw  aspersions  on  him  ?  or  so  weakly 
Protected  his  own  honour,  as  it  should 
Need  a  defence  from  any  but  himself? 
They  are  fools  that  judge  me  by  my  outward 

seeming. 
Why  should  my  gentleness  beget  abuse  ? 
The  lion  is  not  angry  that  does  sleep, 
Nor  every  man  a  coward  that  can  weep. 
For  God's  sake,  speak  the  cause. 

Ram.  Not  for  the  world. 
Oh  !  it  will  strike  disease  into  your  bones. 
Beyond  the  core  of  physic;  drink  your  blood, 
Rob  you  of  all  your  rest,  contract  your  sight, 
Leave  you  no  eyes  but  to  see  misery, 
And  of  your  own ;  nor  speech,  but  to  wish  thus. 
Would  1  had  perish*d  in  the  prison's  jaws, 
From  whence  I  was  redeemed! — 'twill  wear  you  old. 
Before  you  have  experience  in  that  art 
That  causes  your  affliction. 

CharaL  ThQU  dost  strike 


THE  FATAL  DOWNEY;         417 

A  deathful  coldness  to  my  heart's  high  heat. 
And  shrink'st  my  liver  like  the  calenture. 
Declare  this  foe  of  mine^  and  life's,  that  like 
A  man  I  may  encounter  and  subdue  iu 
It  shall  not  have  one  such  effect  in  me, 
As  thou  denouncest :  with  a  soldier's  arm. 
If  it  be  strength,  I'll  meet  it ;  if  a  fault 
Belonging  to  my  mind,  I'll  cut  it  off 
With  mine  own  reason,  as  a  scholar  should. 
Speak,  though  it  make  me  monstrous. 

Rom»  I  will  die  first. 
Farewell ;  continue  merry,  and  high  heaven  - 
Keep  your  wife  chaste  ! 

Ckaral,  Hum  !  Stay,  and  take  this  wolf 
Out  of  my  breast)  that  thou  hast  lodged  there,  or 
For  ever  lose  me. 

Rom.  Xose  not,  sir,  yourself, 
And  I  will  venture : — so^  the  door  is  fast. 

[Locks  the  door. 
Now,  noble  Charalois,  collect  yourself, 
Summon  your  spirits,  muster  all  your  strength 
That  can  belong  to  man ;  sift  passion 
From  every  vein,  and  whatsoe'er  ensues, 
Upbraid  not  me  hereafter,  as  the  cause  of 
Jealousy,  discontent,  slaughter,  and  ruin: 
Make  me  not  parent  to  sin. — You  will  know 
This  secret  that  I  burn  with  ? 

Charal.  Devil  on't, 
What  should  it  bel  Romont,  I  heard  you  wish 
My  wife's  continuance  of  chastity. 

Rom.  There  was  no  hurt  in  that, 

ChnraL  Why,  do  you  know 
A  likelihood,  or  possibility, 
Unto  the  contrary  ? 

Rom.  I  know  it  not,  but  doubt  it ;  these  the 
grounds : 
The  servant  of  your  wife  now,  young  Novall,. 


418         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

The  son  unto  your  father's  enemy, 

(Which  aggravates  presumption  the  more?) 

I  have  been  warn'd  of,  touching  her : — nay,  seen 

them 
Tied  heart  to  heart,  one  in  another's  arms, 
Multiplying  kisses,  as  if  they  meant 
To  pose  arithmetic ;  /)r  whose  eyes  would 
Be  first  burnt  out  with  gazing  on  the^other's. 
I  saw  their  mouths  engender,  and  their  palms 
Glew'd,  as  if  love  had  lock'd  them;  their  words 

flow 
And  melt  each-other's,  like  two  circling  flames, 
Wherechastity,like  a  phoenix,  methought,  burn'd, 
But  left  the  world  nor  ashes,  nor  an  heir. — 
Why  stand  you  silent  thus?  what  cold  dull  phlegm, 
As  if  you  had  no  drop  of  choler  mix'd 
In  your  whole  constitution,  thus  prevails,         ^ 
To  fix  you  now  thus  stupid,  hearing  this? 

CharaL  You  did  not  see  him  on  my  couch  within, 
Like  George  a-horseback,  on  her,  nor  a-bed  ? 

Rom.  No. 

Charal.  Ha!  ha! 

Ram.  Laugh  you  !  even  so  did  your  wife, 
And  her  indulgent  fathcu*. 

Charal.  They  were  wise  : , 
Wouldst  have  me  be  a  fool  ? 

Rom.  No,  but  a  man. 

CharaL  There  is  no  dram  of  manhood  to  sus- 
pect, 
On  such  thin  airy  circumstance  as  this; 
Mere  compliment  and  courtship.    Was  this  tale 
The  hideous  monster  which  you  so  concealed  ? 
Away,  thou  curious  impertinent,* 
And  idle  searcher  of  such  lean,  nice  toys ! 

*  AtMty^  thou  curious  impertinent,]  This  is  ftn  allusion  to  the 
title  of  one  of  Cerrantes'  noyels,  which  were  much  read  and 
admired  in  MaMinger'i  time. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         419 

Go,  thou  seditious  sower  of  debate, 

Fly  to  such  matches,  where  the  bridegroom 

doubts 
He  holds  not  worth  enough  to  countervail 
The  virtue  and  the  beauty  of  his  wife ! 
Thou  buzzing  drone,  that  'bout  my  ears  dost  hum, 
To  strike  thy  rankling  sting  into  my  heart, 
Whose  venom  time  nor  medicine  could  assuage. 
Thus  do  I  put  thee  off !  and,  confident 
In  mine  own  innocency  and  desert, 
Dare  not  conceive  her  so  unreasonable. 
To  put  Novall  in  balance  against  me; 
An  upstart,  craned  up  to  the  height  he  has. 
Hence,  busybody  !  tnou'rt  no  friend  to  me. 
That  must  be  kept  to  a  wife's  injury, 

Rom.  Is't  possible? — farewell,  fine  honest  mant 
Sweet- tempered  lord,  adieu !  What  apoplexy 
Hath  knit  sense  up?  is  this  Romont's  reward? 
Bear  witness,  the  great  spirit  of  thy  father. 
With  what  a  healthful  hope  I  did  administer 
This  potion,  that  hath  wrought  so  virulently  ! 
I  not  accuse  thy  wife  of  act,  but  would 
Prevent  her  precipice  to  thy  dishonour. 
Which  now  thy  tardy  sluggishness  will  admit 
Would  I  had  seen  thee  graved  with  thy  great  sire,, 
Ere  lived  to  have  men's  marginal  fingers  point 
At  Charalois,  as  a  lamented  dtonr !' 
An  emperor  put  away  his  wife  ror  touching 
Another  man ;  but  thou  wouldst  have  thine  tasted, 
And  keep  her,  I  think — Phoh  1  I  am  a  fire, 

9  Would  I  had  seen  thee  graved  xoith  thy  great  sire^ 
Ere  lived  to  have  men'fi  marginal  fingers  point 
At  Charalois,  as  a  lamented  story !]  This  is  a  most  beautiful 
allasion  to  the  ancient  custom  of  placing  an  index  (S^)  in  the 
margin  of  books,  to  direct  the  reader's  attention  to  the  striking 
passages.  Massinger  follows  Shakspeare  in  drawing  his  illustia*- 
iions  from  the  most  familiar  objects. 


^ 


4«0         THE  FATAL  DOWRT. 

To  warm  a  dead  man,  that  waste  out  myself. 

Bleed*— -What  a  plague,  a  vengeance,  is  t  to  me,^ 

If  you  will  be  a  cuckold  ?  here,  I  shew 

A  sword's  point  to  thee,  this  side  you  may  shun. 

Or  that,  the  peril;  if  you  will  run  on, 

I  cannot  help  it. 

CharaL  Didst  thou  never  see  me 
Angry,  Romont? 

Mom.  Yes,  and  pursue  a  foe 
Like  lightning. 

CharaL  Prithee,  see  me  so  no  more  : 
I  can  be  so  again.     Put  up  thy  sword, 
And  take  thyself  away,  lest  I  draw  mine. 

Rom.  Come,  fright  your  foes  with  this,  sir ! 
I'm  your  friend, 
And  dare  stand  by  you  thus. 

CharaL  Thou  art  not  my  friend, 
Or  being  so,  thou  art  mad  ;  I  must  not  buy 
Thy  friendship  at  this  rate.     Had  I  just  cause, 
Thou  know'st  I  durat  pursue  such  injury 
Through  fire,  ait,  water,  earth,  nay,  were  they  all 
Shuffled  again  to  chaos ;  but  there''s  none. 
Thy  skill,  Romont,  consists  in  camps,  not  courts. 
Farewell,  uncivil*  man  !  let's  meet  no  more: 
Here  our  long  web  of  friendship  I  untwist. 
Shall  I  go  whine,  walk  pale,  and  lock  my  wife. 
For  nothing,  from  her  birth's  free  liberty. 
That  open'd  mine  to  me  ?  yes !  if  I  do. 
The  name  of  cuckold  then  dog  me  with  scorn  ! 
I  am  a  Frenchman,  no  Italian  born.  [Ejnt. 

'  Bleed — ]  So  the  quarto ;  Coxeter  has  Bl^od;  which  Mf.  M. 
Mason  points  as  if  it  were  an  oath.  This,  ho  were  r,  is  not  the 
author's  meaning:  he  was  about  to  say,  perhaps,  Bleed  (for 
one  that  feels  not  for  himself!)  or  something  equivalent  to  it : 
but  his  impatient  indignation  will  not  let  him  proceed,  and  he 
bursts  out  into  exclamat€Mry  interrogations. 
*  *  Farewelly  uncivil  man  I]  i.  e.  unacquainted  with  the  usages 
and  cnsioms  of  dinl  ox  municipal  life.    See  Vol*  II.  p.  21S. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         421 

Rxm.  A  dull  Dutch  rather :  fall  and  cool,  rny 
blotfd! 
Boil  not  in  zeal  of  thy  friend's  hurt  so  high, 
That  is  so  low  and  cold  himself  in't !  Woman, 
How  strong  art  thou  !  how  easily  beguiled  ! 
How  thou  dost  rack  us  by  the  very  horns  ! 
Now  wealth,  I  see,  change  manners  and  the  man. 
Something  I  must  do  mine  own  wrath  to  assuage, 
And  nott  my  friendship  to  an  after-age.     [Ea^it, 


ACT  IV,    SCENE   I. 

A  Room  in  NovalPs  House. 

"bi ov A  th  Junior  di^overed  seated  before  a  looking* 
glass,  with  a  Barber  and  Perfumer  dressing  his 
hair,  while  a  Tailor  adjusts  a  new  suit  which 
he  wears.  Liladam,  Aymer,  and  a  Page  at-' 
tending. 

Nov.jun.  Mend  this  a  little:  pox!  thou  hast 
turnt  me.  Oh,  fie  npon't !  O  lard  1  he  has  made 
in€  smell  for  all  the  world  like  a  flax,  or  a  red- 
headed woman's  chamber :  Powder,  powder, 
powder ! 

Perf.  Oh,  sweet  lord  ! 

Pc^e.  That's  his  perfumer. 

Tail.  Oh,  dear  lord  ! 

Page.  That's  his  tailor. 

Nov.  jun.  Monsieur  Liiadam>  Aymer,  how  al- 
low ydu  the  model  of  these  clothes  ? 

j4jfm.  Admirably,  admirably ;  oh,  «weet  lordj 
assuredly  it's  pity  the  worms  should  .eat  thee. 

Page.  Hcres  a  fine  cell!  a  Jowl,  a  tailor,  a 
perfumer,  a  barber,  and  a  pair  of  monsieiirs :  thi:ee 

VOL,  III.  ♦  F  f 


402  THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

to  three ;  as  little  wit  in  the  one»  as  honesty  in 
the  other.  'Sfoot !  I'll  into  the  country ,  again, 
learn  to  speak  tfuth,  drink  ale,  and  converse 
with  my  father's  tenaata ;  here  I  hear  nothing 
all  d^y,  but — Upm  my  sml^  as  lam  a  gentleman^ 
and  an  honest  man  !  \^Asi<k. 

Aym.  I  vow  and  afiirm,  your  tailor  must  needs 
be  an  expert  geometrician ;  he  has  the  longitude, 
latitude,  altitude^  profundity,  every  dimension  of 
your  body,  so  exquisitely — here's  a  lace  laid  as 
directly  as  if  truth  were  a  taildr. 

Page.  That  were  a  miracle.  [Aside. 

Lilad.  With  a  hair's- breadth's  error,  there's  a 
shoulder-piece  cut,  and  the  base  of  a  pickadille 
mpuncto. 

Aym.  You  are  right,  monsieur ;  his  vestaments 
-^  sit  as  if  they  grew  upon  him,  or  art  had  wrought 
them  on  the  same  loom  as  nature  framed  his 
lordship;  as  if  your  tailor  were  deep  read  in 
astrology,  and  had  taken  measure  of  your  honour- 
able body  with  a  Jacob's  staff,  an  ephimerides. 

Tail.  I  am  bound  t'ye,  gentlemen. 

Page.  You  are  deceived ;  they'll  be  bound  to 
you:  you  must  remember  to  trust  them  none. 

[Aside. 

Nov.Jun.  Nay,  'faith,  thou  art  a  reasonable  neat 
artificer,  give  the  devil  his  due. 

Page.  Ay,  if  he  would  but  cut  the  coat  accord- 
ing to  the  cloth  still.  [Aside. 

Nov.jun.  I  now  want  only  my  mistress'  appro- 
bation, who  is,  indeed,  the  most  polite,  punctual, 
queen  of  dressing  in  all  Burgundy — pah  1  and 
makes  all  other  young  ladies  appear  as  if  they, 
came  from  board  last  week  out  of  the  country  : 
is't  not  true,  Liladam  ? 

Lilad.  True,  my  lord  1  as  .if  any  thing  your 
lordship  could  say  could  be  otlierwise  than  true,; 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         423 

^(H^.Jun.  Nay,  o'  my  soul,  *tis  so ;  what  fouler 
object  m  the  world,  than  to  see  a  young,  faic, 
iiandsome  beauty  unhandsomely  dighted,  and  in- 
congruehtly  accoutred  ?  or  a  hopeful  chevalier 
unmethodically  appointed  in  the  external  orna- 
ments of  nature  ?  For,  even  as  the  index  tells  us 
the  contents  of  stories,  and  directs  to  the  particu- 
lar cliapters,  even  so  does  the  outward  habit  and 
superficial  order  of  garments  (in  man  or  woman) 
give  us  a  taste  of  the  spirit,  and  demonstratively 
point  (as  it  were  a  manual  note  from  the  margin) 
all  the  internal  quality  and  habiliment  of  the 
soul ;  and  there  cannot  be  a  more  evident,  pal- 
pable, gross  manifestation  of  poor,  degenerate, 
dungnilly  blood  and  breeding,  than  a  rude,  un»- 
polished,  disordered,  and  slovenly  outside.' 

Page.  An  admirable  lecture !  oh,  all  you  gaU 
lants,  that  hope  to  be  saved  by  your  fclothes, 
edify,  edify  !  [Aside. 

Aym.  By  the  Lard,  sweet  lard,  thou  deservest 
a  pension  o'  the  state. 

Page.  O'  the  tailors:  two  such  lords  were 
able  to  spread  tailors  o'er  the  face  of  the  whole 
jkingdom.  [Aside. 

jSfov.  jun.  Pox  o'  this  glass !  it  flatters. — I 
could  find  in  my  heart  to  break  it. 

Page.  O,  save  the  glass,  my  lord,  and  break 
their  heads ; 
They  are  the  greater  flatterers,  I  assure  your 

[Aside. 

'  This  empty  coxcomb  was  afterwards  improTed  into  the  se- 
date and  entertaining  fop  of  Gibber  ^nd  Vanbrough^s  age« 
Whether  they  copied  from  nature,  I  casntidt  say  %  but  the  beatt 
of  our  present  dramas,  whose  wit  lies  altogether  ill  the  restless 
acthity  of  his  leg»  and  arms,  resembles  no  animal  rational  or 
irrational,  with  which  I  am  acquainted,  unless  it  be  a  monkey 
that  has  just  snapt  its  chain. 

*  FfS 


434  THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Aym.  Flatters !  detracts,  impairs — yet,  put  it 

Lest  thou,  dear  lord,  Narcissus  like,  should'st  doat 
Upon  th3^self,  and  die;  and  rob  the  world 
Or  nature's  copy,  that  she  works  form  by, 

Lilad.  Oh  that  I  were  the  infanta  queen  of 
Europe  ! 
Who  but  thyself,  sweet  lord,  should  marry  me? 

Nov.jun.  I  marry!  were  there  a  queen  o'  the 
world,  not  I. 
Wedlock!  no ;  padlock,  horselock: — I  wear  spurs 

{He  caper^. 
To  keep  it  off  my  heels.    Yet,  my  Aymer, 
Like  a  free,  wanton  jennet  in  the  meadows, 
1  look  about,  and  neigh,  take  hedge  and  ditch, 
Feed  in  my  neighbour's  pastures,  pick  my  choice 
Of  all  their  fair-maned  mares :  but  married  once, 
A  man  is  staked  or  poun'd,  and  cannot  graze 
Beyond  his  own  hedge. 

Enter  Pontalier  and  Malotin. 

Pont.  I  have  waited,  sir, 
Three  hours  to  speak  wi'ye,  and  not  take  it  well 
Such  magpies  are  admitted,  whilst  I  dance 
Attendance. 

Lilad.  Magpies  !  what  d'ye  take  me  for  ? 

Pont.  A  long  thing  with  a  most  unpromising 
face. 

Aym.  I'll  never  ask  him  what  he  takes  me  fon 

Malot,  Do  not,  sir. 
For  he'Jl  go  near  to  tell  you. 

Pont.  Art  not  thou 
A  barber-surgeon  ? 

Barb.  Yes,  sirrah;  why? 

Pont.  My  lord  is  sorely  troubled  with  two  scabs. 

Lilad.  Aym.  Hum 


THE   FATAL  DOWRY.  4S5 

^   Pont.  I  prithee  cure  him  of  them. 

Nov.jun.  Pish  !  no  more. 
Thy  gall  sure's  overflown  ;  these  are  my  council, 
And  we  were  now  in  serious  discourse. 

Pont  Of  perfume  and  apparel!  Can  you  rise. 
And  spend  five  hours  in  dressing-talk  with  these? 

Nov.  Jun.  Thou'ldst  have  me  be  a  dog:  up, 
stretch,  and  shake,  , 
And  ready  for  all  day. 

Pont.  Sir,  would  you  be 
More  curious  in  preserving  of  your  honour  trim. 
It  were  more  manly.     I  am  come  to  wake 
Your  reputation  from  this  lethargy 
You  let  it  sleep  in  ;  to  persuade,  imp6rtunie, 
Nay,  to  provoke  youj  sir,  to  call  to  account 
This  colonel  Romont,  for  the  foul  wrong 
Which,  like  a  burthen,  he  hath  laid  upon  you. 
And,  like  a  drunken  porter,  you  sleep  under. 
*Tis  all  the  town  talks  ;*  and,  believe  it^  sir, 
If  your  tough  sense  persist  thus,  you  arc  undone. 
Utterly  lost ;  you  will  be  scorn'd  and  baffled 
By  every  lacquey  :  season  now  your  youth 
With  one  brave  thing,  and  it  shall  keep  the  odour 
Even  to  your  death,  beyond,  and  on  your  tomb 
Scent  like  sweet  oils  and  frankincense.    Sir,  this 

life. 
Which  once  you  saved,  I  ne'er  since  counted  mine; 
I  borrowed  it  of  you,  and  now  will  pay  it : 
I  tender  you  the  service  of  my  sword. 
To  bear  your  challenge;  if  you'll  write,  your  fate 
I'll  make  mine  own ;  whate'er  betide  you,  I, 
That  have  lived  by  you,  by  your  side  will  die. 

Nov.  jun.  Ha !  ha !  wouldst  have  me  challenge 
poor  Romont  i — 

'^  ^Tis  all  the  town  talks,]  So  the  quarto ;  which  is  surj^ly, 
better  dian  ttrwn'ialk^  which  the  modern  editors  have  substituted 
in  its  place. 


426  THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

0 

Fight  with  close  breeches,  thou  mayst  think  I 

dare  not  ;• 
Do  not  mistake  me,  coz,  I  am  very  valiant ; 
But  valour  shall  not  make  me  such  an  ass. 
What  use  is  there  of  valour  now-a-days  ? 
'Tis  sure  or  to  be  kill'd,  or  to  be  hang'd. 
Fight  thou  as  thy  mind  moves  thee,  'tis  thy  trade; 
Thou  hast  nothing  else  to  do.  Fight  with  Romont! 
No;  I'll  not  fight,  under  a  lord. 

Pont.  Farewell,  sir ! 
I  pity  you. 

Such  living  lords  walk,  their  dead  honour's  graves, 
For  no  companions  fit  but  fools  and  knaves,  . 
Come,  Malotin.     lExeunt  Pontalier  and  Mahtiju 

Enter  Romont. 

Lilad.  'Sfoot,  Colbrand,  the  low  giant ! 
Aym.  He  has  brought  a  battle  in  hisfaqe,  let's  go. 
Page.  Colbrand,  d'ye  call  him  ?  he'll  make  some 
of  you* 
Smoke,  I  believe, 
Rom.  By  your  leave,  sirs  ! 

'  Fight  wit k  close  breeches f  thou  mayst  think  I  dare  mt:']  Cox* 
et€r  and  Mr,  M.  Mason  point  this,  as  if  they  supposed  close 
breeches  referred  to  Romont ;  but  it  is  not  so.  In  answer  to  the 
charge  of  cowardicevNovali.  tells  Pontalier,  that  thougb  he  may 
conclade,  from  his  ^nical  appearance^  and  his  vesfptents  sitting 
as  if  they  greuf  upon  him,  tliat  he  was  afraid  to  fight,  he  v^af 
mistaken.  It  is  the  poverty  of  Romdfit,  which  (as.  he  woold^ 
insinuate)  preyents  his  challenging  him, 

^  Page.  Colbrand^  d'ye,  call  him  f  h^  II.  make  some  of  you 
Smoke,  I  believe.]  It  is  as  rare  tQ  find  H  qonooit  in.Massinger 
as  to  miss  one  in  his  contemporaries :  here,  boweTAT)  there  ap* 
pears  something  like  an  attempt  to  find  a  resemblance  between 
Colbrand  and  cold-brand !  In  justice  to  the  author  (who,  after 
all,  may  be  Field)  ifshould  be  added,  that  it  is  put  i^tp  the  nM>oth 
oi  a  page.  Colbrand  was  a  Danish  giant,  as  niay  be  seen  iuth^i 
rtnowned  History  of  Guy  Earl  of  Warwkky  ef  ery  child's  dellghtft 


THE   FATAL  DOWRY.  4^7 

Ajftn.  Are  you  a  consort  ?' 
Rom.  Do  you  take  me  for 
A  fiddler?  you're  deceived  :  look  !  I'll  pay  you. 

{^Kicks  them. 


7  Ajm.  Are  you  a  consort  f\  i.  e.  come  jovl  here  to  be  played 

on.      CoXETER. 

This  cannot  be  the  meaning,  for  a  concert  is  no6  played  on. 
M.  Mason. 

A  concert  is  understood  to  mean  instruments  played  upon. 
Daties. 

And  thus  the  text  is  illnstratied !  Not  one  of  these  gentlemen 
had  the  slightest  idea  of  wiiat  Masstnger  was  saying,  nor,  which' 
though  not  uncommon,. is  yei  somewhat  more  extraordinary,  of 
what  he  was  saying  himself. 

In  the  author's  age,  the  tavernB  were  infested  with  itinerant 
bands  of  musicians,  each  of  which  (jointly  and  indiridually)  was 
oalled  a  noise  or  consort:  tirese  were  sometimes  inTited  to  play^ 
to  the  company,  but  seem  more  frequently  to  have  thrust  them- 
selves, unasked,  into  it,  with  an  ;Offer  of  their  services :  their 
intrusion  was  usually  prefaced  with,  ^'  By  your  leave,  gentlemen, 
will  you  hear  any  music?"  One  or  two  examples,  in  a  case 
where  as  many  bandreds  might  easily  be  produced^  will  make 
all  clear : 

*^  I  will  not  hare  you  henceforth  sneak  to  tayerns, 
And  jnffp  /iAeJ^d/eivinta  gentlemen's  rooms, 
To  shark  for  wine  and  radishes."    Jealfms  Lovers, 

Again:  What. say  yon  of  tninstreis  that  range  abroad,  and 
tirust  themselves  into  every  manners  presence  and  company  to  play^ 
some  mirth  vnto  them  ?  Dialogue  between  Youth  and  Age^  p.  85, 

Again  t 

Enter  Fiddler  to  the  Company. 

^^  Fid»  WillH  please  you,  gentlemen,  to  hear  any  music  ? 

'^  Bofo.  Shall  we  have  any  ? 

^^  Sd>,  By  no  means ;  it  takes  from  oar  mirth. 

^^  jBod.  Begone,  then. 

*'  Fid,  A  very  good  song,  an't  please  you  ? 

'^  Sekk  Thisr  is  the  trick  of  taverns^  when  men  desire  to  be  pri» 
M^tf."    Shirley's  Lao^s  Cruelty. 

Romont,  who  had  broken  into  NoTall'sdresstngrooiii,  with  the 
CHistomary.  phrase,  By  your  halves  gentiemeny  naturally  draws  from 
Aymer  (a  musician)  the  queslioD-he  puts;  and  Romont,  who 
miderstands  him^  as  aaturaUy  replies,  I  will.shew  you  that  I  an 


4S8  THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Page.  It  seems  he  knows  you  one,  lie  hum- 
fiddles  you  so. 

Lilad.  Was  there  ever  so  base. a  fellow? 

Ay7n.  A  rascal. 

Lilad.  A  most  uncivil  groom. 

^ym.  Offer  to  kick  a  gentleman  in  a  noblemafv's 
chamber  !  a  pox  o'  your  manners  ! 

Lilad.  Let  him  alone,  let  him  alone :  thou  shalt 
lose  thy  aim,  fellow ;  if  we  stir  against  thee,  hang 
us. 

Page.  'Sfoot !  I  think  they  have  the  better  on 
him  though  they  be  kick'd,  they  talk  so. 

Lilad.  Let's  leave  the  mad  ape.  [Goings 

Nov.jun.  Gentlemen ! 

Lilad.  Nay,  my  lord,  we  will  not  offer  to  dis-t 
honour  you  so  much  as  to  stay  by  you,  since  he*s 
alone, 

Nov.jun.  Hark  you ! 

^ym.  We  doubt  the  cause,  and  will  not  dis- 
parage you  so  much  as  to  take  your  lordship's 

not:  musicianB  Ate  paid;  "whereas,  T  "w'lW pay  (beat)  you*  This  is 
the  sense  of  the  passage.  I  have  before  remarked  on  the  strange 
conduct  of  Mr.  M.  Mason,  in  changing  consort y  to  concert,  as 
often  as  it  occurs. 

Not  many  years  since,  a  Tolnme  of  Comments  on  the  Plays  of 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher^  was  published  by  the  Right  Honourable 
J.  Monck  Mason ;  in  which,  among  other  passages,  I  was 
somewhat  struck  with  the  following : 

^^  Or  be  of  some  good  concert. "^^  •  The  Captain ^ 

*^  The  old  reading  is  consort^  which  the  editors  have  injudiciously 
changed  to  concert^  a  mistake  which  the  editors  of  Shakspcare 
have  also  run  into."    P.  217. 

Though  this  may  be  true,  it  required  a  certain  degree  of  in. 
trepidity  to  enable  a  man  who  neyer.saw  the  word  in  Massingev 
without  i^orrupting  it,  to  hazard  a  sneer  of  this  nature  at  the 
editors  of  Shakspeare.  It  must  be  remembered,  .that  I  speak 
on  the  supposition  tha(  t)}e  author  of  the  Comments  was  also.tbt 
editor  of  Mas^inger. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  429 

quarrel  in  hand.     Plague  on  him,  how  he  has 
crumpled  our  bands  ! 

Page.  I'll  e'en  away  with  them,  for  this  soldier 
beats  man,  woman,  and  chijd. 

\^Exeunf  all  but  Noxtalljun.  and  Romont, 

Nw.jun.  What  mean  you,  sir?  My  people  ! 

Rom.  Your  boy's  gone,  \^Locks  the  door. 

And  your  door's  lock'd  ;  yet  for  no  hurt  to  you, 
But  privacy.     Call  up  your  blood  again ; 
Be  not  afraid,  I  do  beseech  you,  sir  ;* 
And,  therefore,  come,  without  more  circumstance, 
Tell  me  how  fat*  the  passages  have  gone 
*Twixt  you  and  your  fair  mistress,  Beaumelle. 
Tell  me  the  truth,  and  by  my  hope  of  heaven, 
It  never  shall  go  further, 

Nov.jun,  Tell  you  J  why,  sir,  are  you  my  con- 
fessor ? 
.   Rom,  I  will  be  your  confounder,  if  you  do  not. 

\^Draws  a  pocket  dag^ 
Stir  not,  nor  spend  your  voice. 

•  Be  not  afraid^  I  do  beseech  you^  sir^  This  line  is  wholly 
omitted  in  the  most  correct  of  all  editions. 

»  Draws  a  pocket  dag.]  So  the  old  copy.  Coxeter,  not  un- 
derstanding the  word,  absurdly  corrupted  it  into  dagger;  which 
gave  an  ioccasion  to  Mr.  M.  Mason  to  evince  his  sagacity: 
**  Yet^"  says  he,  with  a  triumph  qver  poor  Massinger,  ''Romont*B 
Tery  next  speech  shev>s  that  this  dagger  was  af  pistol,^*  To  so« 
phisticate  an  author's  text  for  the  sake  of  charging  him  with, an 
absurdity,, is  hard  dealing.  It  is  singular  that  neither  of  these 
editors  of  an  Ancient,  poet,  especially  the  last,  who  tells  us  of  the 
necessity  of  consulting  contemporary  authors,  should  be  apprized 
pi  the  meaning  of  this  term :  dag  was  psed  by  our  old  writers 
for  a  pocket,  in  contradistinction  to,  what  we  now  call,  a  horse. 
ipistol;  and  is  thus  found  in  many  dramas  of  the  iGth  and  I7th 
centuries.  Thus,  in 'the  Spanish  Tragedj/^  which  Coxeter,  if  not 
<^Ml'  M»  Mafio;i,  i^ust  h.a,Te  read : 

- ..  ^i  Serb,  Wherefore  should  he  send  for  me^so  late? 
^'  Fend.  Fot  .this,  S.erberine;  and  thou  shalt  have  it. 

[Shoots  the  ilag, 
^^  Watch,  |Iar^!  gentlemen;  thJ5  ia  aji»i$/o/rshut/V 


430  THE   FATAL  DOWRY. 

Nov.jun.  What  will  you  do  ? 

Rom.  Nothing,   but  line  your  brain-pan,  sir, 
with  lead, 
If  you  not  satisfy  me  suddenly  : 
I  am  desperate  of  my  life,  and  command  yours. 

Nov.jun.  Hold!  hold!  I'll  speak.   •!  vow  to 
heaven  and  you, 
She's  yet  untouched,  more  than  her  face  and  hands. 
I  cannot  call  her  innocent ;  for,  I  yield. 
On  my  solicitous  wooing,^  she  consented. 
Where  time  and  place  met  opportunity, 
To  grant  me  all  requests. 

Rom.  But  may  I  build 
On  this  assurance  ? 

Nov.jun.  As  upon  your  faith. 

Rom.  Write  this,  sir;  nay,  you  must« 

Nov.jun.  Pox  of  this  gun  ! 

Rom*  Withal,  sir,  you  must  swear,  and  put 
your  oath 
Under  your  hand,  (shake  not,)  ne'er  to  frequent 
This  lady's  company,  nor  ever  send 
Token,  or  message,  or  letter,  to  incline 
This,  too  much  prone  already,  yielding  lady. 

Nov.jun.  Tis  done,  sir. 

Rom*  Let  me  see  this  first  is  right :  [Reading. 
And  here  yo^  wish  a  sudden  death  may  light 
Upon  your  body,  and  hell  take  your  soul, 
If  ever  more  you  see  her,  but  by  chance ; 
Much  less  allure  her«    Now,  my  lord,  your  band. 

Nov.jun.  My  hand'  to  this  ! 

Rom.  Your  heart  else,  I  assure  you. 

Nov.jun.  Nay,  there  'tis. 

Rom.  So  !  keep  this  last  article 
Of  your  faith  given,  and,  stead  of  threatenings,  sir, 

^  On  my  solicitous  wooing,]  The  quarto  erroneously  reads 
«rof}^« :  amended  by  Mr.  M.  Mason. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRT.  431 

The  service  of  my  sword  and  life  is  yours. 
But  not  a  word  of  it : — -'tis  fairies'  treasure, 
Which  but  reveal'd,  brings  on  the  blabber's  ruin. 
Use  your  youth  better^  and  this;  excellent  form 
Heaven  hath  bestow'd  upon  you.  So,  goodinorro  w 
To  your  lordship  !  [EMh 

Nov.jun.  Good  devil  to  your  roguej»hip !  No 

man's  safe 

I'll  have  a  cannon  planted  in  my  chamber, 
Against  such  roaring  rogues. 

Enter  ^EiahKv^VLT^^  hastily. 

Bell.  My  lord,  away ! 
The  caroch  stays :  now  have  your  wi^h,  and  judge 
If  I  have  been  forgetful. 

Nov.jun.  Hah! 

BdL  Do  you  stand 
Humming  and  hahing  now  ?  [JEiXtV. 

Nov.jun,  Sweet  wench,  I  come. 
Hence,  fear ! 

I  swore— that's  all  one ;  my  next  oath  I'll  keep 
That  I  did  mean  to  break,  and  then  'tis  quit. 
No  pain  is  due  to  lovers'  perjury: 
If  Jove  himself  laugh  at  it,  so  will  I.  [Ent. 


SCENE    11. 

An  outer  Room  in  Aymer's  Hbuse. 
Enter  Charalois  and  Beauj^ont. 

Beau.  I  grieve  for  the  distaste,  though  I  have 
manners 
Not  to  enquire  the  cause,  fallep  out  between 
Your  lordship  and  Komout 


/J 


452  THE  FATAL  DOWilY. 

CharaL  I  love  a  friend, 
So  long  as  he  continues  in  the  bounds 
Prescribed  by  friendship;  but,  when  he  usurps 
Too  far  on*  what  is  proper  to  myself, 
And  puts  the  habit  of  a  governor.on, 
I  must  and  will  preserve  my  liberty. 
But  speak  of  something  else,  this  is  a  theme 
I  take  no  pleasure  in.    What's  this  Aymer, 
Whose  voice  for  song,  and  excellent  knowledge  in 
The  chiefest  parts  of  music,  you  bestow 
Such  praises  on  ? 

Beau.  He  is  a  gentleman 
(For  so  his  quality'  speaks  him)  well  received 
Among  our  greatest  gallants ;  but  yet  holds 
His  main  dependence  from  the  young  lord  NovalU 
Some  tricks  and  crotchets  he  has  in  his  head. 
As  all  pfiusicians  have,  and  more  of  him 
I  dare  not  author:  but,  when  you  have  heard  him, 
I  may  presume  your  lordship  so  will  like  him, 
That  you'll  hereafter  be  a  friend  to  music. 

^  Too  far  on  what^  &c.]  The  modern  editors  omit  on,  to  the 
manifest  injury  both  of  the  metre  and  the  sense;  but  indeed 
their  omissions  in  this  play  are  innamerabie. 

^  (For  so  his  quality  speaks  //tm)]  His  qtudityy  i.  e.  his  prqfesm 
non  of  a  music-master.  In  the  following  lines  there  is  an 
allusion  to  another  profession,  (of  a  less  honourable  nature,) 
which,  at  that  time,  was  commonly  united  to  the  former,  that  of 
keeping  a  bawdyhouse.  Thus  Torcol,  a  notorious  pander,  in 
the  comedy  of  Ignoramus :  ^^  Signior^  et  mercator  sum  ei  muskus: 
Ludum  ideo  hie  aperui  Fidicinum."  On  which  Ignoramus,  with 
his  usual  cunning>  obserres,  ^^  NuUaJides  tuisjidillis,^* 

And,  yet  more  to  the  purpose :  ^^  If  any  part  of  musicke  have 
suffered  shipwracke,  and  arriyed  by  fortune  at  their  fingers 
endes,  with  shewe  of  gentility  they  take  up  faire  houses,  receive 
lusty  lasses  at  a  price  for  boorde  and  pipe  from  morning  till 
eyeoing  for  wood  and  cole. — Jf  their  hpuses  be  searched,  some 
instrumente  of  musicke  is  laide  in  sight  to  dazel  the  eyes  of 
every  officer,  and  all  that  are  lodged  in  the  house  by  nigh]t  of 
frequent  it  by  day,  come  thither  as  pupilies  to  be  we]l  scl^ooled/* 
Gossan's  Schoole  of  Abust^  1579>  c»  9* 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  433 

Choral.  I  never  was  an  enemy  to't,  Beaun^ont/ 
Nor  yet  do  I  subscribe  to  the  opinion 
Of  those  old   captains,   that   thought  nothing 

musical 
But  cries  of  yielding  enemies,  neighing  of  horses, 
Clashing  of  armour,  loud  shouts,   drams,   and 

trumpets : 
Nor,  on  the  other  side,  in  favour  of  it,  ' 
Affirm  the  world  was  made  by  musical  discord ; 
Or  that  the  happiness  of  our  life  consists 
In  a  well-varied  note  upon  the  lute : 
I  love  it  to  the  worth  oft,  and  no  further.—— 
But  let  us  see  this  wonder. 

Beau.  He  prevents 
My  calling  of  him. 

Enter  Avmee,  speaking  to  one  wit  him 

Aym.  Let  the  coach  be  brought 
To  the  back  gate,  and  serve  the  banquet  up. — i— * 
My  good  lord  Cbaralois  !  I  think  my  house 
Much  honoured  in  your  presence. 

Char  at.  To  have  means 
To  know  you  better,  sir,  has  brought  me  hither 
A  willing  visitant;  and  you'll  crown  my  .welcom«^ 
In  making  me  a  witness  to  your  skill, 
Which,  crediting  from  others,  I  admire. 

Aj/m.  Had  I  been  one  hour  sooner  made  ac* 
quainted 

^  Charal.  /  never  wm  an  enemy  ioH^  Beaumont y  &c.]  I  saspcci 
that  Mr.  Steerens,  the  coryphoeus  of  commentators,  was  but 
littie  acquainted  with  Massinger ;  he  would  not  otherwise  har^ 
failed  to  contrast  this  speech  witiii  that  celebrated  one  of  Shak«. 
speare,  The  man  that  has  no  musict  &c.  with  which  he  was 
known  to  be  highly  offended.  What  Steerens  neglected,  the 
leader  has  now  an  oportunity  of  executing ;  and,  though  I  will 
not  anticipate  his  judgment,  I  mfist  yet  be  permitted  to  say  that 
the  beauties  of  this  speech  are  of  no  ordinary  kind. 


434  THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

With  yOur  intent,   my  lord,   you  should  have 

found  me 
Better  provided  :  now,  such  as  it  is, 
Pray  you  grace  with  your  acceptance. 

Beau.  You  are  modest. 

Aym.  Begin  the  last  new  air. 

[To  the  Musicians  within. 

CharaU  Shall  we  not  see  them  ? 

Aym.  This  little  distance  from  the  instruments, 
Will  to  your  ears  convey  the  harmony 
With  more  delight. 

CharuL  I'll  not  contend.* 

Aym*  You  are  tedious.  [7b  the  Musicians. 

By  this  means  shall  I  with  one  banquet  please 
Two  companies,  those  within  and  these  gulls  here, 

MUSIC,  AND  A  sbNG. 

BeaumeL  [mthin.]  Ha  !  ha  1  ha  ! 

Charal.  How's  this !  it  is  my  lady's  laugh,  most 
certain. 
When  I  first  pleased  her,  in  this  merry  language 
She  gave  me  thanks.  [Asi^^. 

Beau.  How  like  you  this? 

Charal.  'Tis  rare 

Yet  I  may  be  deceived,  and  should  be  sorry, 

Upon  uncertain  suppositions,  rashly 

To  write  myself  in  the  black  list  of  those 

I  have  declaimM  against,  and  -to  Romont.  [Aside. 

Aym.  I  would  he  were  w«ll  off !— -^Perhaps 
your  lordship 
Likes  not  these  sad  tunes  ?  I  have  a  new  song, 


^  Cirftral.  Til  not  cdtitetid.^  The  old,  and,  I  believe,  the  true 
readrfig  is,  FH  not  consent.  It  appi^ars  to  me  thlit  a  wrong  iNune 
has  T>eeii  prefiited  to  this  shott  speech,  and  that  it  belonjgs  t« 
Bcanmelle,  who  speaks  within.  Aymer  is  evidently  solicitous 
to  keep  Charalots  oat  of  hearing  ;/and  the  artifice  is  not  to  be 
praised  hj  which  his  lady  n  made  so  clainorous  and  so  incauti- 
ous.   The  alteratioii  is  by  Ooxeter*  -  .      . 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  435 

Set  to  a  lighter  note,  may  please  you  better; 
Tis  call'd  the  Happy  Husband. 

Charal.  Pray  you,  sing  it. 

SONG  BV  Atmer. 

Beaumel.  [within.]  Ha!  ha!  'tis  such  a  groom! 

Charal.  Do  I  hear  this, 
Alid  yet  stand  doubtful  ?    [Rushes  into  the  hduse. 

Aym.  Stay  him — I  am  undone, 
And  they  discover'd. 

Beau.  What's  the  matter? 

Aym.  Ah  1 
That  women,  when  they're  well  pleased,  cannot 

hold ; 
But  must  laugh  out. 

Re-enter  CnKYLKVOiB^  with  fiissworddraam,  pursuing 
NovALLjumory  Beaumelle,  and  Bexlapeet. 

I 

Nov.jun.  Help!  save  me !  murder!  murderl- 

Beaumel.  Undone,  undone,  for  ever  !* 

Charal  Oh,  my  heart ! 
Hold  yet  a  little — do  not  hope  to  'scape 
By  flight,  it  is  impossible.    Though  I  might 
On  all  advantage  take  thy  life,  and  justly ; 
Thissword,my  father's  sword,  that  ne'er  was  drawn 
But  to  a  noble  purpose,  shall  not  now 
Do  the  office  of  a  hangman.     I  reserve  it 
To  right  mine  honpur,  not  for  a  revenge 
So  poor,  that  though  with  thee  it  should  cut  off 
Thy  family,,  with  all  that  are  allied 
To  thee  in  lust  or  baseness,  'twere  still  short  of 
All  terms  of  satisfaction.    Draw  ! 

Nov. Jim.  I  dare  not: 

^  Beaumel.  Undone^  undone^  for  ever  f]  This  short  speech  is 
taken  by  the  modern  editors  from  Beaumelle,  and  given  to  Bel. 
lapert.  Nothing  was  ever  more  injadicions.  It  is  all  she  says, 
apd  all  she  properly  could  say. 


436         THE  FATAL  DOWRf. 

I  have  already  done  you  too  much  wrongs 
To  light  in  such  a  cause. 

Charal.  Why,  darest  thou  ileither 
Be  honest  coward,  nor  yet  vahant  knave, 
In  such  a  cause!  come,  do  not  shame  thyself  s 
Such  whose  bloods  wrongs,  or  wrong  done  to 

themselves* 
Could  never  heat,  are  yet  in  the  defence 
Of  their  whores,  daring.     Look  on  her  again: 
You  thought  her  worth  the  hazard  of  your  soul^ 
And  yet  stand  doubtful,  in  her  quarrel,  to 
Venture  your  body. 

Beau.  No,  he  fears  his  clothes, 
More  than  his  flesh. 

Charal.  Keep  from  me !  guard  thy  life, 
Or,  as  thou  hast  lived  like  a  goat,  thou  shalt 
Die  like  a  sheep. 

Nov.jun.  Since  there's  no  remedy, 
Pespair  of  safety  now  in  me  prove  courage  ! 

{Theyjight^  NovallJalU. 

Charal.  How  soon  weak  wrong's  o'erthrown  I 
Lend  me  your  hand  : 
Bear  this  to  the  caroch — come,  you  have  taught  me 
^o  say,  you  must  and  shall  ? 

[Ea^eunt  Beaumont  and  Bellapert^  with  the  Body 
of  Novall ;  followed  by  Beaumelle. 

I  wrong  you  not, 
You  are  but  to  keep  him  company  you  love.-*- 

^  Suck  whose  bloods  wrongs,  or  wrong  done  to  ihemselTes,  &c.3 
I  belieTe  this  means,  those  whose  bloods  general  or  individual 
injuries  could  never  heat,  &c.  If  this  be  not  allowed,  we  must 
read,  and  wrong  done  to  themselves,  instead  of  ory  the  sense  wiH 
then  be  sufficiently  clear.  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  evidentljp 
miiunderstood  the  passage,  which  is  misprinted  in  both* 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         437 


Re'Cnter  Beaumont. 

* 

« 

Is't  done  ?  ^tis  well.    Raise  officers,  and  take  care 

All  you  can  apprehend  within  the  house 

May  be  forthcoming.   Do  I  appear  much  moved? 

iseau.  No,  sir. 

CharaL  My  griefs  are  now  thus  to  be  bom  ; 
Hereafter  I'll  find  time  and  place  to  mourn^ 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

A  Street. 

-Bwfer  RoMONT  and  Pontalier. 

Pont,  I  was  bound  to  seek  you,  sir. 

Rom.  And,  had  you  found  me 
In  any  place  but  in  the  street,  I  should 
Have  done, — not  talk'd  to  you.    Arc  you,  the 

captain, 
The  hopeful  Pontalier,  whom  I  have  seen 
Do,  in  the  field,  such  service  as  then  made  you 
Their  envy  that  commanded,  here,  at  home^ 
To  play  the  parasite  to  a  gilded  knave. 
And,  it  may  be,  the  pander  ? 

Pont.  Without  this, 
I  come  to  call  you  to  account  for  what 
Is  past  already.     I,  by  your  example 
Or  thankfulness  to  the  dead  general, 
By  whom  you  were  i:aised,  have  practised  to  be  so 
To  my  good  lord  No  vail,  by  whom  I  live ; 
Whose  least  disgrace  that  is  or  may  be  offered, 
With  all  the  hazard  of  my  life  and  fortunes 
I  will  make  good  on  you,  or  any  man 
That  has  a  hand  in't :  and,  since  you  allow  m# 

VOL.  III.  *  Cr  g 


438         THE  FATAL  DOWEY. 

A  gentleman  and  a  soldier,  there's  no  doubt 
You  will  except  against  me.    You  shall  meet 
With  a  fair  enemy :  you  understand 
The  right  I  look  for,  and  must  have  ? 

Rom.  I  do; 
And  with  the  next  day's  sun  you  shall  hear  from 
me.  lEjpeunt. 

SCENE   IV. 

A  Room  in  Charalois'  House. 

\ 

Enter  Charalois  with  a  casket,  Beaumelle, 

and  BEAWonfT. 

CharaL  Pray  bear  this  to  my  father,  at  his 
leisure  « 

He  may  peruse  it :  but  with  your  best  language 
Entreat  his  instant  presence.    You  have  sworn 
Not  to  reveal  what  I  have  done. 

Beau.  Nor  will  I — but 

CharaL  Doubt  me  not ;  by  heaven,  I  will  do 
nothing 
But  what  may  stand  with  honour.     Pray  you, 
l^ave  me  [Eant  Beaumont. 

To  my  own  thoughts.— rif  this  be  to  me,  rise ; 

[Beaumelle  kneels. 
I  am  not  worth  the  looking  on,  but  onlv 
To  feed  contempt  and  scorn ;  and  that  from  you. 
Who,  with  the  loss  of  your  fair  name,  have  caused  it. 
Were  too  much  cruelty. 

BeaumeL  I  dare  not  move  you 
To  hear  me  speak.     I  know  my  fault  is  far 
Beyond  qualification  or  excuse ; 
That  'tis  not  fit  for  me  to  hope,  or  you 
To  think  of  ipcrcy ;  only  I  presume 
To  .entreat  you  would  be  pleased  to  look  upon 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  439 

My  sorrow  for  it,  and  believe  these  tears 
Are  the  true  children  of  my  grief,  and  not 
A  woman's  cunning. 

CharaL  Can  you,  Beaumelle, 
Having  deceived  so  great  a  trust  as  mine, 
Though  I  were  all  credulity,  hope  again 
To  get  belief?  No,  no;  if  you  look  on  me 
With  pity,  or  dare  practise  any  means 
To  make  my  sufferings  less,  or  give  just  cause 
To  all  the  world  to  think  what  I  must  do 
Was  call'd  upon  by  you,  use  other  ways : 
Deny  what  I  have  seen,  or  justify 
What  you  have  done ;  and,  as  you  desperately 
Made  shipwreck  of  your  faith,  to  be  a  whore, 
Use  the  arms  of  such  a  one,  and  such  defence, 
And  multiply  the  sin  with  impudence* 
Stand  boldly  up,  and  tell  me  to  my  teeth, 
That  you  have  done  but  what  is  warranted 
By  great  examples,  in  all  places  where 
Women  inhabit;  urge  your  own  deserts. 
Or  want  of  me  in  merit ;  tell  me  how 
Your  dower,  from  the  low  gulf  of  poverty. 
Weighed  up  my  fortunes  to  what  tney  now  arc : 
That  I  was  purchased  by  your  choice  and  prac- 
tice, 
To  shelter  you  from  shame,  that  you  might  sin 
As  boldly  as  securely :  that  poor  men 
Are  married  to  those  wives  that  bring  them 

wealth. 
One  day  their  husbands,  but  observers*  ever. 
That  when,  by  this  proud  usage,  you  have  blown 
The'fire  of  my  just  vengeance  to  the  height, 
I  then  may  kill  you,  and  yet  say  *twas  done 
In  heat  of  blood,  and  after  die  myself. 
To.  witness  my  repentance. 

'  But  obseryers  «ver.]  Observers  are  seryantt :  the  word  fre« 
q^aeotly  occurs  in  this  sense. 

•Gg8 


440         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Beaumel.  O  my  fate  ! 
That  never  would  consent  that  I  should  see 
How  worthy  you  were  both  of  love  and  duty. 
Before  I  lost  you;  and  my  misery  made 
The  glass  in  which  I  now  behold  vour  virtue ! 
While  I  was  good,  I  was  a  part  of  you, 
And  of  two,  by  the  virtuous  harmony 
Of  our  fair  minds,  made  one ;  but,  since  I  wan- 

der'd 
In  fbe  forbidden  labyrinth  of  lust, 

What  was  inseparable  is  by  me  divided* 

With  justice,  therefore,  you  may  cut  me  off, 
And  from  your  memory  wash  the  remembrance 
That  e'er  I  was ;  like  to  some  vicious  purpose. 
Which,  in,  your  better  judgment,  you  repent  of. 
And  study  to  forget. 

Charal.  O  Beaumelle, 
That  you  can  speak  so  well,  and  do  so  ill ! 
But  you  had  been  too  great  a  blessing,  if 
You  had  continued  chaste :  see,  how  you  force  mc 
To  this,  because  mine  honour  will  not  yield 
That  I  again  should  love  you. 

BeaumeU  In  this  life 
It  is  not  fit  you  should :  yet  you  shall  find. 
Though  I  was  bold  enough  to  be  a  strumpet, 
I  dare  not  yet  live  one.  Let  those  famed  matrons^ 
That  are  canonized  worthy  of  our  sex. 
Transcend  me  in  their  sanctity  of  life ; 
I  yet  will  equal  them  in  dying  nobly. 
Ambitious  of  no  honour  after  life, 
But  that,  when  I  am  dead,  you  will  forgive  me. 

CharaL  How  pity  steals  upon  me  !  should  I 

,  hear  her  [Knocking  within. 

But  ten  words  more,  I  were  lost. — One  knocks^ 

go  in.  [Ea^it  Beaumelle. 

That  to  be  merciful  should  be  a'  sin ! 


THE  FATAL  DOW^RY.         441 

Enter  Rochfort. 

O,  sir,  most  welcome  !  Let  me  take  your  cloak, 

I  must  not  be  denied* — Here  are  your  robes, 

As  you  love  justice,  once  more  put  tbem  on. 

There  is  a  cause  to  be  determined  of. 

That  does  require  such  an  integrity 

As  you  have  ever  used. — FU  put  you  to 

The  trial  of  your  constancy  and  goodness : 

And  look  that  you,  that  have  been  eagle-eyed 

In  other  men's  affairs,  prove  not  a  mole 

In  what  concerns  yourself.    Take  you  your  seat ; 

I  will  be  for*  you  presently.  [Exit.  \A/ifk*^f^<  * 

Roch.  Angels  guard  me  ! 
To  what  strange  tragedy  does  this  induction* 
Serve  for  a  prologue  ? 

Re-enter  Charalois,  Beaumelle,  and  Beau- 
mont, with  Servants  bearing  the  Body  of  No- 
y  ALL  Junior.'' 

Charal.  So,  set  it  down  before 
The  judgment-seat — [Exeunt  Seroants.'\—- and  ' 

stand  you  at  the  bar :  [To  Beaumelle^ 

For  me,  I  am  the  accuser. 

Roch.  Novall  slain ! 
And  Beaumelle,  my  daughter,  in  the  place 
Of  one  to  be  arraign'd  ! 

Charal.  O,  are  you  touched  ! 

.'  I  wUl  be  for  jron  presentfy.']  So  the  qnarto :  the  modern  edi« 
tors  read,  I  tuiU  before  you  presently :  but  whether  by  mistake, 
or  from  an  idea  of  improving  the  text,  I  cannot  tell. 
'  To  what  strange  tragedy  does  this  induction 
•   Serve  for  a  prologue?}  The  old  copy  reads,  does  this  de- 
ttradion,  &c.   The  amendment,  which  is  a  happy  one,  was  sug- 
gested by  Mr.  M.  Mason*   Thus  in  the  Guardian  : 
^^  This  is  but  an  induction  ;  111  draw 
^(  The  curtains  of  the  tragedy  hereafter/' 


442         THS  FATAL  DOWRY. 

I  find  that  I  must  take  another  course. 
Fear  nothing,  I  will  only  blind  your  eyes ; 

[He  binds  his  eyes. 
For  justice  should  do  so,  when  'tis  to  meet 
An  object  that  may  sway  her  equal  doom 
From  what  it  should  be  aim*d  at. — Good,  my  lord, 
A  day  of  hearing. 

Roch.  It  is  granted,  speak 

You  shall  have  justice. 

Charal.  I  then  here  accuse, 
Most  equal  judge,  the  prisoner,  your  fair  daughter, 
For  whom  I  owed  so  much  to  you ;  your  daughter. 
So  worthy  in  her  own  parts,  and  that  worth 
Set  forth  by  yours,  to  whose  so  rare  perfections, 
Truth  witness  with  me,  in  the  place  of  service 
I  almost  paid  idolatrous  sacrifice, 
To  be  a  false  adultress. 

Roch.  With  whom  ? 

Charal.  With  this  Novall  here  dead. 

Rocli.  Be  well  advised; 
And  ere  you  say  adultress  again, 
Her  fame  depending  on  it,  be  most  sure 
That  she  is  one. 

Charal.  I  took  them  in  the  act : 
I  know  no  proof  beyond  it. 

Roch.  O  my  heart ! 

Charal.  A  judge  should  feel  no  passions. 

Roch.  Yet  remember 
He  is  a  man,  and  cannot  put  off  nature. 
What  answer  makes  the  prisoner  ? 

BeaumeL  I  confess 
The  fact  I  am  charged  with,  and  yield  myself 
Most  miserably  guilty. 

Roch.  Heaven  take  mercy 
Ugon  your  soul,  then  !  it  must  leave  your  body. — 
Now  free  mine  eyes;  I  dare  unmoved  look  on  her, 

[Charalois  unbinds  his  eyes. 


THE  FATAL  DOXrY.         445 

^nd  fortify  my  sentence  with  strong  reasons.    * 
Since  that  the  politic  law  provides  that  servants, 
To  whose  care  we  commit  our  goods,  shall  die 
If  they  abuse  our  trust,  what  can  you  look  for, 
To  whose  charge  this  most  hopeful  lord  gave  up 
All  he  received  from  his  brave  ancestors. 
Or  he  could  leave  to  his  posterity, 
His  honour,  wicked  woman  !  in  whose  safety 
All  his  life's  joys  and  comforts  were  lock'd  up, 
Which  thy  -  -  -  -'  lust,  a  thief,  hath  now  stolen 

from  him ; 
And  therefore-— 

Charal.  Stay,  just  judge : —  may  not  what's  lost 
By  her  one  fault,  (for  I  am  charitable,  - 
And  charge  her  not  with  many,)  be  forgotten 
In  her  fair Jife  hereafter? 

Roch.  Never,  sin 
The  wrong  that's  done  to  the  chaste  married  bed^ 
Repentant  tears  can  never  expiate; 
And  be  assured, — to  pardon  such  a  sin. 
Is  an  offence  as  great  as  to  commit  it. 

Charat  I  may  not  then  forgive  her  ? 

Roch.  Nor  she  hope  it. 
Nor  can  she  wish  to  live :  no  sun  shall  rise, 
But,  ere  it  set,  shall  shew  her  ugly  lust 
In  a  new  shape,  and  every  one  more  horrid. 
Nay,  even  those  prayers  which,  with  such  humble 

fervour. 
She  seems  to  send  up  yonder,  are  beat  back. 
And  all  suits  which  her  penitence  can  proffer. 
As  soon  as  made,  are  with  contempt  thrown  out 
Of  all  the  courts  of  mercy. 

Charal.  Let  her  die,  then  !  [He  stabs  her. 

Better  prepared,  I'm  sure,  I  could  not  take  her, 

^  Which  thy  '  •  ^  ^  lust^  a  thiefy  Sec]  Some  epithet  to  bisiy 
has  been  lost  at  the  press ;  the  reader  may  supply  the  break 
with  kotffouly  or  any  other  monosyllable  of  a  kindred  meaning. 


444         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Nor  she  accuse  her  fatheri  as  a  judge 
Partial  against  her. 

BeaumeL  I  approve  his  sentence. 
And  kiss  the  executioner.     My  lust 
Is  now  run  from  me  in  that  blood  in  which 
It  was  begot  and  nourish'd.  [Dies. 

Rock.  Is  she  dead,  then? 
CharaL  Yes,  sir ;  this  is  her  heart-^blood,  is  it 
not? 
I  think  it  be. 

Roch.  And  you  have  kill'd  her? 
Charal  True, 
And  did  it  by  your  doom. 

RocK  But  1  pronounced  it 
As  a  judge  only,  and  a  friend  to  justice ; 
And,  zealous  in  defence  of  your  wrong'd  honour. 
Broke  all  the  ties  of  nature,  and  cast  off 
The  love  and  soft  affection  of  a  father. 
I,  in  your  cause,  put  on  a  scarlet  robe 
Of  red-died  cruelty  ;  but  in  return, 
You  have  advanced  for  me  no  flag  of  mercy. 
I  look'd  on  you  as  a  wrong'd  husband  ;  but 
You  closed  your  eyes  against  me  as  a  father.' 
O  Beaumelle  !  my  daughter  1 
CharaL  This  is  madness. 
Roch.  Keep  from  me! — Could  not  one  good 
thought  rise  up. 
To  tell  you  that  she  was  my  age's  comfort, 
Begot  by  a  weak  man,  and  bom  a  woman. 
And  could  not,  therefore,  but  partake  of  frailty  ? 
Or  wherefore  did  not  thankfulness  step  forth, 
.To  urge  my  many  merits,  which  I  may 
Object  unto  you,  since  you  prove  ungrateful. 
Flint-hearted  Charalois ! 

Charal.  Nature- does  prevail 
Above  your  virtue. 
Roch.  No ;  it  gives  me  eyes 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         44* 

To  pierce  the  heart  of  your  design  against  mc  : 
I  find  it  now,  it  was  my  state  was  aim'd  at. 
A  nobler  match  was  sought  for,  and  the  hours 
I  lived  grew  tedious  to  you :  my  compassion 
Tow'rds  you  hath  render'd  me  most  miserable, 
And  foolish  charity  undone  myself. 
But  there's  a  heaven  above,  from  whose  just 

wreak 
No  mists,  of  policy  can  hide  offenders, 
'    Nov.  sen.  \within.'\  Force  ope  the  doors ! 

Enter  Novall  senior y  with  Officers. 

O  monster  !  cannibal ! 
Lay  hold  oh  him.  My  son,  my  son !  — O  Rochfort, 
'Twas  you  gave  liberty  to  this  bloody  wolf, 

To  worry  all  our  comforts : but  this  is 

No  time  to  quarrel ;  now  give  your  assistance 
For  the  revenge- 

Roch.  Call  it  a  fitter  name. 
Justice  for  innocent  blood. 

Charal.  Though  all  conspire 
Against  that  life  which  I  am  weary  of, 
A  little  longer  yet  FU  strive  to  keep  it. 
To  shew,  in  spite  of  malice  and  their  laws, 
His  plea  must  speed,  that  hath  an  honest  cause. 

[Exeunt. 


44$        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 


ACT  V.     SCENE  I. 

A  Street. 

lEnter  Tailor,  and  two  Bailiffs  with  LiIadak. 

* 

lalad.  Why,  'tis  both  most  unconscionable  and 
untimely, 
To  arrest  a  gallant  for  his  clothes,  before 
He  has  worn  them  out:   besides,  you  said  you 

ask'd 
My  name  in  my  lord's  bond  but  for  form  only, 
And  now  you'll  lay  me  up  for't !  Do  not  think 
The  taking  measure  of  a  customer 
By  a  brace  of  varlets,^  though  I  rather  wait 
Never  so  patiently,  will  prove  a  fashion 
Which  any  courtier  or  inns-of-court-man 
Would  follow  willingly. 

Tail.  There  I  believe  you. 
But,  sir,  I  must  have  present  monies,  or 
Assurance  to  secure  me  when  I  shall ; 
Or  I  will  see  to  your  coming  forth. 

Lilad.  Plague  on't  1 
You  have  provided  for  my  entrance  in  ; 
That  coming  forth  you  talk  of,  concern|5  me. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  you  have  done  me  a  disgrace 
In  the  arrest,  but  more  in  giving  cause 
To  all  the  street  to  think  I  cannot  stand 
Without  these  two  supporters  for  my  arms. 
Pray  you,  let  them  loose  me :  for  their  satisfac- 

tion, 
I  will  not  run  away. 

^  By  a  bract  ^varlets,]  So  our  old  nrriters  call  the  sheriff's 
•fficers. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         447 

Tail.  For  theirs,  you  will  not ; 
But  for  your  own,  you  would.  Look  to  him, fellows. 

Lilad.  Why,  do  you  call  them  fellows  ?  do  not 
wrong 
Your  reputation  so.     As  you  are  merely 
A  tailor,  faithful,  apt  to  believe  in  gallants, 
You  are  a  companion  at  a  ten-crown  supper. 
For  cloth  of  bodkin,  and  may,  with  one  lark. 
Eat  up  three  manchets,*  and  no  man  observe  you, 
Or  call  your  trade  in  question  for't.     But,  when 
You  study  your  debt-book,  and  hold  correspon- 
dence 
With  officers  of  the  hanger,  and  leave  swordsmen, 
The  learn'd  conclude,  the  tailor  and  the  seijeant, 
In  the  expression  of  a  knave  and  thief, 
To  be  synonyma.*    Look,  therefore,  to  it. 
And  let  us  part  in  peace ;  I  would  be  loth 
You  should  undo  yourself 

and  mayy  with  one  lark^ 


^7 -w»  —J 

Eat  up  three  manchets,  &c.]  Our  old  dramatists  aboand  In 
allusions  to  tlie  qnantitj  of  bread  de?oared  by  tailors.  Thus 
Giapthorne : 

^^  He'll  sup  them  up  as  easily  as  a  taylor 

Would  do  six  hot  loaves  in  a  morniog  fasting,"  ^. 

Wit  in  a  Co%8tdbk\ 
And  Massinger  again,  just  below : 

*•  Our  breakfasts,  famous  for  the  buttered  loaves, 
I  have,  with  joy,  been  oft  acquainted  with.'* 

They  undoubtedly  enjoyed  the  allusion:  but  the  pleasantry, 
whatever  might  be  its  nature,  is  altogether  lost  to  us. 

5  To  be  synonyma.]  Here  again  Mr,  M.  Mason  follows  Coxe. 
ter  in  reading  synonymous  :  but  the  old  word  was  that  which  1 
ha?e  given.    So  Jonson : 

"  Where  every  tinker  for  his  chink  may  cry, 
"  Rogue,  bawd,  and  cheater,  call  you  by  the  surnames 
"  And  known  synonyma  of  your  profession."    The  New  Inm 
See  the  Emperor  of  the  East^  p.  ^53. 


V 


44Q         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 


Enter  Novall  senior,  and  To^taliek. 

Tail.  To  let  you  go, 
Were  the  next  way.    But  see  !  here's  your  old 

lord; 
L.et  him  but  give  his  word  I  shall  be  paid, 
And  you  are  free. 

Lilad.  'Slid  !  I  will  put  him  to't. 
I  can  be  but  denied :  or — what  say  you? 
His  lordship  owing' me  three  times  your  debt, 
If  you  arrest  him  at  my  suit,  and  let  me 
Go  run  before,  to  see  the  action  entered  : — 
Twould  be  a  witty  jest ! 

Tail.  I  must  have  earnest : 
I  cannot  pay  my  debts  so. 

Pont.  Uan  your  lordship 
Imagine,  while  I  live,  and  wear  a  sword. 
Your  son's  death  shall  be  unrevenged  ? 

Nov.  sen.  I  know  not  ' 

One  reason  why  you  should  not  do  like  others : 
I  am  sure,  of  all  the  herd  that  fed  upon  him, 
I  cannot  ree  in  any,  now  he's  gone,*^ 
In  pity  or  in  thankfulness,  one  true  sign 
Of  sorrow  for  him. 

Pont.  All  his  bounties  yet, 
Fell  not  in  such  unthankful  ground :  'tis  true, 
He  had  weaknesses,  but  such  as  few  are  free  from ; 
And,  though  none  sooth'd  them  less  than  I,  (for 

now. 
To  say  that  I  foresaw  the  dangers  that 
Would  rise   from   cherishing   them,    were   but 

untimely,) 
I  yet  could  wish  the  justice  that  you  seek  for> 
In  the  revenge,  had  been  trussed  to  me. 
And  not  the  uncertain  issue  of  the  laws» 
It  has  robb'd  me  of  a  noble  testimony 


THE   FATAL  DOWRY.        449 

Of  what  I  darst  do  for  him : — ^but,  however, 
My' forfeit  life  redeemed  by  him,  though  dead, 
Shall  do  him  service. 

JViw.  ^en.  As  far  as  my  grief 
Will  give  me  leave,  I  thank  you, 

Zilad.  O,  my  lord  ! 
Oh  my  good  lord !  deliver  me  from  these  Furies* 

Pont,  Arrested !    this  is  one  of  them,  whose 
base 
And  abject  flattery  help'd  to  dig  his  grave : 
He  is  not  worth  your  pity,  nor  my  anger. 
Go  to  the  basket,  and  repent.*  ? 

Nov.  sen.  Away  ! 
I  only  know  thee  now  to  hate  thee  deadly : 
I  will  do  nothing  for  thee. 

Lilad.  Nor  you,  captain  ? 

Font.  No;  to  your  trade  again ;  put  off  this  case : 
It  may  be,  the  discovering  what  you  were, 
When  your  unfortunate  master  took  you  up, 
May  move  compassion  in  your  creditor. 
Confess  the  truth. 

\^E.veunt  Novall  sen.  and  Pontalier. 

Lilad.  And  now  I  think  on't  better, 
I  will/    Brother,  your  hand;  your  hand,  sweet 

brother: 
I'm  of  your  sect,  and  my  gallantry  but  a  dream, 
Out  of  which  these  two  fearful  apparitions. 
Against  my  will,  have   waked  me.    This  rich 
sword, 

^  Go  to  the  basket  and  repent^  The  allusion  is  to  the  sheriff^! 
basket^  in  which  broken  meat  was  collected  for  the  use  of  pri- 
soners for  debt.  See  the  City  Madam. 
^  Lilad.  And  now  I  think  on't  better, 
I  mllf  &c.]  This  is  most  exquisite  mock-heroic ;  it  is,  per. 
haps,  a  little  out  of  place ;  but  it  serves  opportunely  enough  to 
proye  how  differently  the  comic  part  of  this  drama  would  have 
appeared,  if  the  whole  had  fortunately  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
Massinger* 


450         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Grew  suddenly  out  of  a  tailor's  bodkin ; 
These  hangers,  from  my  vails  and  fees  in  hell ; 
And  where  as  now  this  beaver  sits,  full  often 
A  thrifty  cap,  composed  of  broad-cloth  lists, 
Near-kin  unto  the  cushion  where  I  sat, 
Cross-legg'd,  and  yet  ungarter'd,  hath  been  seen : 
Our  breakfasts,  famous  for  the  butter'd  loaves, 
I  have  with  joy  been  oft  acquainted  with  ; 
And  therefore  use  a  conscience,  though  it  be 
Forbidden  in  our  hall  towards  other  men. 
To  me,  that,  as  I  have  been,  will  again 
Be  of  the  brotherhood. 

1  Bail.  I  know  him  now ; 
He  was  a  prentice  to  JLe  Robe  at  Orleans. 

Zilad.  And  from  thence  brought  by  my  young 
lord,  now  dead, 
Unto  Dijon,  and  with  him,  till  this  hour. 
Have  been  received  here  for  a  complete  monsieur: 
Nor  wonder  at  it ;  for  but  tithe  our  gallants. 
Even  those  of  the  first  rank,  and  you  will  find 
In  every  ten,  one,  perad venture  two, 
That  smell  rank  of  the  dancing-school  or  fiddle, 
The  pantofle  or  pressing^iron  : — but  hereafter 
We'll  talk  of  this.     I  will  surrender  up 
My  suits  again,  there  cannot  be  much  loss; 
TTis  but  the  turning  of  the  lace,  with  one 
Addition  more  you  know  of,  and  what  wants, 
I  will  work  out. 

TaiL  Then  here  our  quarrel  ends  : 
The  gallant  is  turn'd  tailor,  and  all  friends. 

[E^veunt 


THE  FATAL   DOWRY^        451 


^CENE   II. 

77ie  Court  of  Justice. 

Enter  Romont  and  Beaumont. 

Rom.  You  have  them  ready  ? 

Beau.  Yes,  and  they  will  speak 
Their  knowledge  in  this  cause,  when  you  think  fit 
To  have  them  caird  upon. 

Rom.  Tis  well ;  and  soniething 
I  can  add  to  their  evidence,  to  prove 
This  brave  revenge,  which   they  would  have 

call'd  murder, 
A  noble  justice. 

Beau.  In  this  you  express 
(The  breach  by  my  lord'is  want  of  you  new  madt 

up) 
A  faithful  friend. 

Rom.  That  friendship's  raised  on  sand, 
Which  every  sudden  gust  of  discontent,  ' 
Or  flowing  of  our  passions,  can  change. 
As  if  it  ne'er  had  been : — but  do  you  know' 
Who  are  to  sit  on  him? 

Beau.  Monsieur  Du  Croy, 
Assisted  by  Charmi. 

•  (The  breach  hj/  my  lord^s  want  of  you  new  made  np)  For  new 
made  up,  Mr.  M.  Mason  chooses  to  read,  now  made  up,  although 
it  be  qot  easy  to  discover  what  is  gained  by  the  alteration.  For 
the  rest,  this  Romont  still  continaes  a  most  noble  fellow.  How 
Rowe  Gonld  read  his  next  speech  and  degrade  his  copy  (Ho- 
ratio) into  a  sentimental  rhapsodist,  querulous,  captious,  and 
unfeeling,  I  cannot  conjecture,  unless  it  were  that  he  deter- 
mined to  create  no  violent  interest  for  any  of  his  characters  bnt 
the  hero  and  heroine  of  the  piece. 


45S        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Rom.  The  advocate 
That  pleaded  for  the  marshars  funeral^ 
And  was  check'd  for  it  by  Novall  ? 

Beau.  The  same. 

Rom.  How  fortunes  that  ? 

Beau.  Why,  sir,  my  lord  Novall, 
Being  the  accuser,  cannot  be  the  judge  ; 
Nor  would  grieved  Rochfort  but  lord  Charalois^ 
However  he  might  wrong  him  by  his  power. 
Should  have  an  equal  hearing. 

Rom.  By  my  hopes 
Of  Charalois'  acquittal,  I  lament 
That  reverend  old  man's  fortune. 

Beau.  Had  you  seen  him. 
As,  to  my  grief,  I  have,  now  promise  patience. 
And,  ere  it  was  believed,  though  spake  by  him 
That  never  brake  his  word,  enraged  again 
So  far  as  to  make  war  upon  those  hairs. 
Which  not  a  barbarous  Scythian  durst  presume 
To  touch,,  but  with  a  superstitious  fear, 
As    something    sacred; — and    then   curse    his 

daughter, 
But  with  more  frequent  violence,  himself, 
As  if  he  had  been  guilty  of  her  fault, 
By  being  incredulous  of  your  report, 
You  would  not  only  judge  him  worthy  pity. 
But  suffer  with  him : — but  here  comes  the  pri- 
soner ; 

Enter  Officers  with  Charalois, 

I  dare  not  stay  to  do  my  duty  to  him ; 

Yet,  rest  assured,  all  possible  means  in  me 

To  do  him  service,  keeps  you  company.     [Exit. 

Rom.  It  is  not  doubted. 

CharaL  Why,  yet  as  I  came  hither, 


THE   FATAL  DOWRY.         459 

The  people,  apt  to  mock  calamity, 
And  tread  on  tjie  oppress'd,  made  no  horns  at  me, 
Though  they  are  too  familiar  I  deserve  them. 
And,  knowing  too  what  blood  my  sword  hath 

drunk, 
In  wreak  of  that  disgrace,  they  yet  forbear 
To  shake  their  heads,  or  to  revile  me  for 
A  murderer ;  they  rather  all  put  on, 
As  for  great  losses  the  old  Romans  used, 
A  general  face  of  sorrow,  waited  on 
By  a  sad  murmur  breaking  through  th^ir  silence: 
And  no  eye  but  was  readier  with  a  tear 
To  witness  'twas  shed  for  me,  than  I  could 
Discern  a  fate  made  up  with  scorn  against  me. 
Why  should  I,  then,  though,  for  unusual  wrongs^ 
I  chose  unusual  means  to  right  those  wrongs, 
Condemn  myself,  as  over-partial 
In  my  own  cause  ? — Romont ! 

Rom.  Best  friend,  well  met! 
By  my  heart's  love  to  you,  and  join  to  that. 
My  thankfulness  that  still  lives  to  the  dead,' 
I  look  upon  you  now  with  more  true  joy. 
Than  when  I  saw  you  married. 

Charal.  You  have  reason 
To  give  you  warrant  for't :  my  falling  off. 
From  such  a  friendship,  with  the  scorn  that  an- 
swered 
Your  too  prophetic  counsel,  may  well  move  you 
To  think  your  meeting  me,  going  to' my  death, 
A  fit  encounter  for  that  hate  which  justly 
I  hkve  deserved  from  you. 

Rdm.  Shall  I  still,  then. 
Speak  truth,  and  be  ill  understood  ? 

'  My  thankfulness  that  still  lives  to  the  dead,]  i.  e.  to  tlie  old 
marshal,  whom  Romont  never  forgets,  nor  SHiietv  hni  heairen  to 
forget. 

VOL.  III.  *  H  h 


454         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Choral.  You  are  not. 
I  am  conscious  I  have  wrong*d  you ;  and  allow 

Only  a  moral  man  ;*«— to  look  on  you. 
Whom  foolishly  I  have  abused  and  injured, 
Must  of  necessity  be  more  terrible  to  me, 
Than  any  death  the  judges  can  pronounce. 
From  the  tribunal  wnich  I  am  to  plead  at. 

Ram.  Passion  transports  you. 

Charal.  For  what  I  have  done 
To  my  false  lady,  or  Novall,  I  can 
Give  some  apparent  cause ;  but  touching  you, 
In  my  defence,  child-like,  I  can  say  nothing 
But,  I  am  sorry  for't ;  a  poor  satisfaction ! 
And  yet,  mistake  me  not ;  for  it  is  more 
Than  I  will  speak,  to  have  my  pardon  sign'd 
For  all  I  stand  accused  of. 

Ram.  You  much  weaken 
The  strength  of  your  good  cause,  should  you  but 

think, 
A  man  for  doing  well  could  entertain 
A  pardon,  were  it  offer'd  :  you  have  given 
To  blind  and  slow-paced  justice  wings  and  eyes, 
To  see  and  overtake  impieties. 
Which,  from  a  cold  proceeding,  had  received 
Indnlgence  or  protection. 

Charal.  Think  you  so  ? 

Ram.  Upon  my  soul !    nor  should  the  blood 
you  challenged, 
And  took  to  cure  your  honour,  breed  more  scruple 
In  your  soft  conscience,  than  if  your  sword 
Had  been  sheath'd  in  a  tiger  or  she-bear,* 


and  oIIqw  me 


Only  a  moral  man ;— ^]  i.  e.  allow  me  to  be  endowed  onlj 
with  the  common  principles  of  morality,  (setting  aside  those  of 
religion,)  and  to  look  on  you,  &c. 

*  Bad  be€n  $k€ath'd  in  a  tiger  or  <ie-(car,]   The  allusioa  is  to' 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  455 

That  in  their  bowels  would   have  made  your 

tomb. 
To  injure  innocence  is  more  than  murder : 
But  when  inhuman  lusts  transform  us,  then 
As  beasts  we  are  to  suffer,  not  like  men 
To  be  lamented.    Nor  did  Charalois  ever 
Perform  an  act  so  worthy  the  applause 
Of  a  full  theatre  of  perfect  men, 
As  he, hath  done  in  this.    The  glory  got 
By  overthrowing  outward  enemies, 
Since  strens:th  and    fortune    are  main   sharem 

in  it, 
We  cannot,  but  by  pieces,  call  our  own : 
Buty  when  we  conquer  our  intestine  foes. 
Our  passions  bred  within  us,  an<l  of  those 
The  most  rebellious-tyrant,  powerful  love, 
Our  reason  suffering  us  to  like  no  longer 
Than  the  fair  object,  being  good,  deserves  it. 
That's  a  true  victory  !  which,  were  great  men 
Ambitious  to  achieve,  by  your  example 
Setting  no  price  upon  the  breach  of  faith, 
But  loss  of  life,  'twould  fright  adultery 
Out  of  their  families,  and  make  lust  appear 
As  loathsome  to  us  in  the  first  consent. 
As  when  'tis  waited  on  by  punishment. 

Charal.  You  have  confirm'd  me.     Who  would 
love  a  woman. 
That  might  enjoy  in  such  a  man  a  friend  !- 
You  have  made  me  know  the  justice  of  my  cause, 
And  mark'd  me  out  the  way  how  to  defend  it« 

Rom.  Continue  to  that  resolution  constant, 

NofaJl  and  Beaumelle ;  but  Mr.  M.  Mason,  who  had  already 
forgotten  that  the  former  had  fallen  by  the  hand  of  Charalois, 
alters  tiger  to  tigress.  Such  a  passion  for  innoTation,  with  so 
little  discretion  to  direct  it,  is  snrelj  seldom  foand  in  the  sam« 
person. 

•Hh2 


456         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

And  you  shall,  in  contempt  of  their  worst  malice. 
Come  off  with  honour — here  they  come. 
Choral.  I  am  ready. 

Enter  Do  Croy,  Charhi,  Kocmvort,  Novall 
senior^  Pontalieb,  and  Beavuo^t.  < 

Nov.  sen.  See,  equal  judges,  with  what  confi- 
dence 
The  cruel  murderer  stands,  as  if  he  would 
Outface  the  court  and  justice  ! 

Rock.  But  look  on  him, 
And  you  shall  find,  for  still  methinks  I  do, 
Though  guilt  hath  died  him  black,  somethiog^ 

good  in  him, 
That  may  perhaps  work  with  a  wiser  man 
Than  I  have  been,  again  to  set  him  free, 
And  give  him  all  he  has. 

Charm.  This  is  not  well. 
I  would  you  had  lived  so,  my  lord,  that  I 
Might  rather  have  continued  j^our  poor  servaBt,^. 
Than  sit  here  as  your  judge. 

Du.  Croy.  I  am  sorry  for  you. 

Roch.  In  no  act  of  my  life  I  have  deserved 
This  injury  from  the  court,  that  any  here, 
Should  thus  uncivilly  usurp  on  what  '. 
Is  proper  to  me  only. 

Du  Croy.  What  distaste 
Receives  my  lord  ? 

Roch.  You  say  you  arc  sorry  for  him ; 
A  grief  in  which  I  must  not  have  a  partner. 
*Tis  I  alone  am  sorry,  that  when  I  raised 
The-  building  of  my  life,  for  seventy  years, 
Upon  so  sure  a  gi>ound,  that  all  the  vices 
Practised  to  ruin  man,  though  brought  against 

ine. 
Could  never  undermine,  and  no  way  left 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         457 

To 5cnd[. these  gray  haiYs  to  th^  grave  with  sorrow^ 

Virtue,  that  was  my  patroness,  betray 'd  mc. 

For,  entering,  nay,  pos<$essing  this  young  man, 

It  lent  him  such  a  powerful  majesty 

To  grace  whatever  he  undertook,  that  freely 

I  gave  myself  up,  with  my  liberty, 

To  be  at  his  disposing.     Had  his  person, 

Lovely  I  must  confess,  or  far-famed  valour. 

Or  any  other  seeming  good,  that  yet 

Holds  a  near  neighbourhood  with  ill,  wrought  oa 

me, 
I  might  have  born  it  better :  but,  when  goodness 
And  piety  itself  in  her  best  figure 
Were  bribed  to  my  destruction,  can  you  blame  me. 
Though  I  forget  to  suffer  like  a  man. 
Or  rather  act  a  woman  ? 

Beau*  Good,  my  lord  l^— 

No^,  sen*  You  binder  our  proceeding. 

Char.  And  forget 
The  parts  of  an  accuser. 

Beau.  Pray  you,  remember 
To  use  the  temper  which  to  me  you  promised. 

Rocks  Angels  themselves  must  break,  Beau- 
mont, that  promise 
Beyond  the  strength  and  patience  of  angels. 
But  I  have  done: — My  good  lord,  pardon  mc, 
A  weak  old'man,  and,  pray  you,  add  to  that, 
A  miserable  father ;  yet  be  careful 
That  your  compassion  of  my  age",  no?  his, 
Move  you  to  any  thing  that  may  disbecome 
The  place  on  which  you  sit. 

Char.  Read  the  indictment. 

CharaL  It  shall  be  needless;  I  myself,  my  lords, 
Will  be  my  own  accuser,  and  confess 
All  they  can  charge  me  with,  nor  will  1  spare 
To. aggravate  that  guilt  with  circums'ance. 
They  seek  to  load  me  wi^h ;  only  I  pray, 


458        THE   FATAL   DOWRY, 

That,  as  for  them  you  will  vouchsafe  me  hearing, 

I  may 

Not  be  denied  it  for  myself,  when  I 

Shall  urge  by  what  unanswerable  reasons 

I  was  compell'd  to  what  I  did,  which  yet, 

Till  you  have  taught  me  better,  1  repent  not, 

Roch.  The  motion's  honest. 

Char.  And  'tis  freely  granted. 

Charal.  Then  1  confess,  my  lords,  that  I  stood 
bound, 
When,  with  my  friends,  even  hope  itself  had  left 

me, 
To  this  man's  charity,  for  my  liberty ; 
Nor  did  his  bounty  end  there,  hut  began: 
For,  after  my  enlargement,  cherishing 
The  good  he  did,  he  made  me  master  of 
His  only  daughter,  and  his  whole  estate. 
Great  ties  of  thankfulness,  I  must  acknowledge : 
Could  any  one,  fee'd  by  you,  press  this  further  r — 
But  yet  consider,  my  most  honour'd  lords, 
If  to  receive  a  favour  make  a  servant, 
And  benefits  are  bonds  to  tie  the  taker 
To  the  imperious  will  of  him  that  gives. 
There's  none  but  slaves  will  receive  courtesies. 
Since  they  must  fetter  us  to  our  dishonours. 
Can  it  be  call'd  magnificence  in  a  prince, 
To  pour  down  riches  with  a  liberal  hand 
Upon  a  poor  man's  wants,  if  that  must  bind  him 
To  play  the  soothing  parasite  to  his  vices  ? 
Or  any  man,  because  he  saved  my  hand, 
Presume  my  head  and  heart  are  at  his  service? 
Or,  did  I  stand  engaged  to  buy  my  freedom 
(When  my  captivity  was  honourable) 
By  making  myself  here,  and  fame  hereafter. 
Bondslaves    to    men's    scorn,   and    calumnious 

tongues  ? — 
Had  his  fair  daughter's  mind  been  like  her  feature^ 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  4*9 

Or,  for  some  little  blemish,  I  had  sought 
For  my  content  elsewhere,  wasting  on  others 
My  body  and  her  dower ;  my  forehead  then 
Deserved  the  brand  of  base  ingratitude : 
But  if  obsequious  usage,  and  fair  warning 
To  keep  her  worth  my  love,  could  not  preserve  her 
From  being  a  whore,  and  yet  no  cunning  one, 
So  to  offend,  and  yet  the  fault  kept  from  me, 
What  should  I  do  ?  Let  any  freie*born  spirit 
Determine  truly,  if  that  thankfulness. 
Choice  form,  with  the  whole  world  given  for  a 

dowry. 
Could  strengthen  so  an  honest  man  with  patiencCi- 
As  with  a  willing  neck  to  undergo 
The  insupportable  yoke  of  slave,  or  wittol. 

Char.  What  proof  have  you  she  did  play  false, 
besides 
Your  oath  ? 

Charal.  Her  own  confession  to  her  father : 
I  ask  him  for  a  witness. 

Roch.  Tis  most  true. 
I  would  not  willingly  blend,  my  last  words 
With  an  untruth* 

Charal.  And  then  to  clear  myself, 
That  his  great  wealth  was  not  the  mark  I  shot  at, 
But  that  I  held  it,  when  fair  Beaumelle 
Fell  from  her  virtue,  like  the  fatal  gold 
Which  Brennus  took  from  Delphos,^  whose  pos- 
session 
Brought  with  it  ruin  to  himself  and  army : 
Here's  one  in  court,  Beaumont,  by  whom  I  sent 
AH  grants  and  writings  back  which  made  it  mine, 
Before  his  daughter  died  by  his  own  sentence, 
As  freely  as,  unask'd,  he  gave  it  to  me. 


like  the  fatal  gold 


•   Which  Brennus  took  from  Delphos^'}  This  was  so  destmctiTe  to 
all  who  shared  it,  that  it  grew  into  a  proverb.   See  Eras.  Adag. 


460         THE  FATAL   DOWRY. 

Beau.  They  are  hej^e  to  be  seen. 
Char.  Open  the  casket. 
-Peruse  that  deed  of  gift.  [To  Du  Cpoy. 


Rom.  Half  of  the  danger 
Already  is  discharged  ;  the  other  part 
As  bravely ;  and  you  are  not  only  free, 
But  crowned  with  praise  for  everi 

Du  Croy*  'Tis  apparent. 

Char.  Your  state,  my  lord,  again  is  yours. 

Roch.  Not  mine ; 
I  am  not  of  the  world.     If  it  can  prosper, 
(And  yet,  beinqj  justly  got,  I'll  not  examine 
Why  it  should  be  so  fatal,)  do  you  bestow  it 
On  pious  uses :  I'll  go  seek  a  grave. 
And  yet,  for  proof  I  die  in  peace,  your  f>ardon 
I  ask  ;  ai^d,  as  you  grant  it  me,  may  heaven. 
Your  conscience,  and  these  judges,  free  you  from 
What  you  are  charged  with  !  So,  farewell  for 
ever ! —  [Exit. 

Hov.  sen.  I'll  be  mine  own  guide.    Passion  nor 
example 
Shall  be  my  leaders.     I  have  lost  a  son, 
A  son,  grave  judges  ;  I  require  his  blood 
From  his  accursed  homicide. 

Char.  Whajt  reply  you. 
In  your  defence,  for  this  ? 

Ckaral.  I  but  attended 
Your  lordship's  pleasure. — For  the  fact,  as  of 
The  former,  I  confess  it ;  but  with  what 
Base  wrongs  I  was  unwillingly  drawn  to  it, 
To  my  few  words  there  are  some  other  proofs. 
To  witness  this  for  truth.    When  I  was  married. 
For  there  I  must  begin,  the  slain  Novall 
Was  to  my  wife,  in  way  of  our  French  courtship, 
A  most  devoted  servant;  but  yet  aimed  at 
Nothing  but  means  to  quench  his  wanton  he^t, 
His  heart  being  never  warm'd  by  lawful  fires. 


THE  FATAL  DfOWRY.         46I 

As  mine  was,  lords :  and  though,  on  these  pre- 
sumptions, 
Join'd  to  the  hate  between  his  house  andtmine, 
I  might,  with  opportunity  and  ease, 
Have  found  a  way  for  my  revenge,  I  did  not ; 
But  still  he  had  the  freedom  as  before, 
When  all  was  mine :  and,  told  that  he  abused  it 
With  some  unseemly  license,  by  my  friend^ 
My  approved  friend,  Romont,  I  gave  no  credit 
To  the  reporter,  but  reproved. him  for  it, 
As  one  uncourtly,  and  malicious  to.  him» 
What  could  I  more,  my  lords?  Yet,  after  this, 
He  did  continue  in  his  first  pursuit, 
Hotter  than  ever,  and  at  length  obtain'd  it ; 
But,  how  it  came  to  my  most  certain  knowledge, 
Fbr  the  dignity  of  the  court,  and  my  own  honour^ 
I  dare  not  say, 

Ntro.  sen.  If  all  may  be  believed 
A  passionate  prisoner  speaks,  who  is  so  foolish 
That  durst  be  wicked,  that  will  appear  guilty  ? 
No,  my  grave  lords;  in  his  impunity. 
But  give  example  unto  jealous  men 
To  cut  the  throats  they  hate,  and  they  will  never 
Want  matter  or  pretence  for  their  bad  ends. 

Char.  You  must  find  other  proofs,  to  strengthen 
these 
But  mere  presumptions. 

Du  Croy.  Or  we  shall  hardly 
Allow  your  innocence. 

Ckaral.  All  your  attempts 
Shall  fall  on  me  like  brittle  shafts  on  armour, 
That  break  themselves ;  or  waves  against  a  rock, 
That  leave  no  sign  of  their  ridiculous  fury, 
But  foam  and  splinters :    my  innocence,    like 

these, 
Shall  stand  triumphant,  and  your  malice  serve 
But  for  a  trumpet  to  proclaim  my  eonquest. 


462         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

Nor  shall  you,  though  you  do  the  worst  fate  can, 
Howe'er  condemn,  afiright  an  honest  man. 

Rom.  May  it  please  the  court,  I  may  he  heard? 

Nov.  sen.  You  come  not 
To  rail  again  r  but  do — you  shall  not  find 
Another  Rochfort. 

Rom.  In  Novall  I  cannot ; 
But  I  come  furnished  with  what  will  stop 
The  mouth  of  his  conspiracy  'gainst  the  life 
Of  innocent  Charalois.     Do  you  know  this  cha- 
racter ? 

Nov,  sen.  Yes,  'tis  my  son's. 

Rom.  May  it  please  your  lordphips,  read  it ; 
And  you  shall  find  there,  with  what  vehemency 
He  did  solicit  Beaumelle;  how  he  got 
A  promise  from  her  to  enjoy  his  wishes  ; 
How  after,  he  abjured  her  company, 
And  yet — but  that  'tis  fit  1  spare  the  dead — 
Like  a  damn'd  villain,  as  soon  as  recorded. 
He  brake  that  oath : — to  make  this  manifest, 
Produce  his  bawds  and  her's. 

Enter  Officers  with  Aymer,  Florihel,  and 

Beljlafert. 

Char.  Have  they  ta'en  their  oaths  ? 

Rom.  They  have,  and,  rather  than  endure  the 
rack. 
Confess  the  time,  the  meeting,  nay,  the  act ; 
What  would  you  more  ?  only  this  matron  made 
A  free  discovery  to  a  good  end ; 
And  therefore  1  sue  to  the  court,  she  may  not 
Be  placed  in  the  black  list  of  the  delinquents. 

Pont.  I  see  by  this,  Novall's  revenge  needs  me,^ 
And  I  shall  do-: [Aside. 

Char.  'Tis  evident. 

Nbn.  sen.  That  I 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.  463 

Till  now  was  never  wretched  :  here's  no  place 
To  curse  him  or  uiy  stars.  [Ea?it. 

Char.  Lord  Charalois, 
The  injuries  you  have  sustained  appear 
So  worthy  of  the  mercy  of  the  court, 
That,  notwithstanding  you  have  gone  beyofid 
The  letter  of  the  law,  they  yet  acquit  you. 

Pont.  But,  in  Novall,  I  do  condemn  him — 
thus.  [Stabs  him^ 

CharaL  I  am  slain. 

Rom.  Can  I  look  on  ?  Oh,  murderous  wretch ! 
Thy  challenge  now  I  answer.    So !  die  with  him. 

[Stabs  Pontalier. 

Char.  A  guard  !  disarm  him. 

Rom.  I  yield  up  my  sword 
Unforced — Oh,  Charalois  ! 

CharaL  For  shame,  Romont, 
Mourn  not  for  him  that  dies  as  he  hath  lived, 
Still  constant  and  unmoved :  what's  fall'n  upon 

me 
Is  by  heaven's  will,  because  I  made  myself 
A  judge  in  my  own  cause,  without  their  warrant ; 
But  He  that  lets  me  know  thus  much  in  death, 
With  all  good  men — forgive  me !  [Dies. 

Pont.  I  receive 
The  vengeance  which  my  love,  not  built  on  virtue, 
Has  made  me  worthy,  worthy  of.*  [Dies. 

Char.  We  are  taught 
By  this  sad  precedent,  how  just  soever 
Our  reasons  are  to  remedy  our  wrongs, 
We  are  yet  to  leave  them  to  their  will  and  power 
That,  to  that  purpose,  have  authority. 
For  you,  Romont,  although,  in  your  excuse, 

^  Has  made  me  worthy,  worthy  of."]  The  old  copy  repeats 
worthy^  which  has  a  good  effect;  when  we  add  to  this,  that  it 
also  completes  the  Terse,  we  shall  wonder  at  its  omission  bj  the 
former  editors. 


464         THE  FATAL  DOWKY. 

You  may  plead  what  you  did  was  in  revenge 

Of  the  dishonour  done  unto  the  court. 

Yet,  since  from  us  you  bad  not  warrant  for  it, 

We  banish  you  the  state :  for  these,  they  shall, 

As  they  are  found  guilty  or  innocent,  . 

Or  be  set  free,  or  suffer  punishment.      [EseunU 


A  DIRGE.    Sue  p.  383. 

Fie  !  cease  to  wonder j 
Though  you  hear  Orpheus  with  his  ivory  lute^ 

Move  trees  and  rocks^ 
Charm  bulls^  bears^  and  men  more  savage^  to  he  mute; 

Weak  foolish  singer^  here  is  one 

TVouid  have  transformed  thyself  to  stone. 

A  SONG  BY  AYMER.      Seep.  391- 

A  Dialogue  between  a  Man  and  a  Woman. 

Man.    Set^  Phcsbus^  set ;  a  fairer  sun  doth  rise 

From  the  bright  radiance  of  my  mistress"  eyes 
Than  ever  thou  begat'st :  J  dare  not  look  ; 
Each  hair  a  golden  line^  each  word  a  hook^ 
The  more  I  strive,  the  more  still  I  am  took. 

Worn.  Fair  servant,  come  ;  the  day  these  eyes  do  lend 
To  warm  thy  blood,  thou  dost  so  vmnly  spends 
Come,  strangle  breath. 

Man.    What  note  so  sweet  as  this^ 

That  calls  the  spirits  to  a  further  bliss  f 

Woni.  Yet  this  out-savours  wine,  and  this  perfume. 

Man.    Lefs  die  ;  I  languish,  I  consume. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         465 

Citizens^  Song  of  the  Courtier.'^ 

Courtier f  if  thou  needs  mit  wiw^ 
From  this  lesson  learn  to  thrive  j 
If  thou  match  a  ladjj^  that  passes  thee  in  birth  and 

state. 
Let  her  curiotts  garments  be 
Tzvice  above  thine  own  degree  ; 
This  will  draw  great  eyes  upon  her. 
Get  her  servants,  and  thee  honour. 

*  • 

Courtier* s  SoisooftJie  Citizens.^ 

Poor  citizen,  if  thou  wilt  be 

A  happy  husband,  learn  of  me 

To  set  thy  wife  first  in  thy  shop  ; 

Afs&r  wife^  a  kind  wife,  a  sweet  wife,  sets  a  poor  man 

up.  i        ■ 

What  though  thy  shelves  be  ne*er  so  bare, 

A  woman  still  is  current  ware ; 

Each  man  will  cheapen,  foe  and  friend  f 

But,  whilst  thou  art  at  toother  end, 

Whatever  thou  seest,  or  what  dost  hear. 

Fool,  have' no  eye  to,  nor  an  ear; 

And  after  supper,  for  her  sake. 

When  thou  hast  fed,  snort,  though  thou  wake : 

fVhat  though  the  gallants  call  thee  Mome  ! 

Yet  with  thy  lantern  light  her  home  ; 

Then  look  into  the  town,  and  tell 

If  no  such  tradesmen  there  do  well. 

*  These  songs,  which  are  assigned  to  a  wrong  place  by  the 
former  editors,  must  be  referred  to  p.  434* 


Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  in  his  life  of  Rowe»  pronounces  of  the 
Fair  Penitent^  '^  that  it  is  one  of  the  motft  pleasing  Tragedies  on 
the  ata^,  where  it  still  keeps  its  tnnis  of  appeacingi  and  prol^abljr 
wilt  Jong  keep  them,  for  that  there  is  scarcely  any  work;of  any 
poet  at  once  so  interesting  by  the  £ib]b,  and  so  delightful  by 


466         THE   FATAL  DOWRY. 

the  Ungaage.  The  story,"  he  obserres,  ^^is  domestic,  and  there- 
fore easily  receiTed  by  the  imagination,  and  assimilated  to  com. 
mon  life ;  the  diction  is  exqvisitely  harmonious,  and  soft  or 
sprightly  as  occasion  requires."  Few  people,  I  beliere,  will 
think  this  character  of  the  Fair  Penitent  too  laTish  on  the  score 
of  commendation ;  the  high  degree  of  public  favour  in  which  this 
Tragedy  has  long  stood,  has  ewer  attracted  the  best  audiences  to 
it,  and  engaged  the  talents  of  the  best  performers  in  its  display. 
As  there  is  no  drama  more  frequently  exhibited,  or  more  gene- 
rally read,  I  propose  to  giTe  it  a  fair  and  impartial  examination, 
jointly  with  the  more  unknown  and  less  popular  Tragedy  from 
which  it  is  derifed. 

The  Fair  Penitent  is  in  fable  and  character  so  closely  copied 
from  the  Fatal  Dowry ^  that  it  is  impossible  not  to  take  that 
Tragedy  along  with  it;  and  it  is  matter  of  some  surprise  to  me 
that  Rowe  should  have  made  no  acknowledgment  of  his  inu- 
tation,  either  in  his  dedication  or  prologue,  or  any  where  else 
that  I  am  apprised  of. 

This  tragedy  of  the  Fatal  Domry  was  the  joint  production  of 
Massinger  and  Nathaniel  Field ;  it  takes  a  wider  compass  of  fable 
than  the  Fair  Penitent ^  by  which  means  it  presents  avery  affecting 
scene  at  the  opening,  which  discoTers  young  Charalois,  attended 
by  his  friend  Romoht,  waiting  ^th  a  petition  in  his  hand  to  be 
presented  to  the  judges,  when  they  shall  meet,  praying  the  re* 
lease  of  his  dead  father's  body,  which  had  been  seized  by  his 
creditors,  and  detained  in  their  hands  for  debts  he  had  incurred 
in  the  public  service,  as  field-marshal  of  the  armies  of  Burgundy. 
Massinger,  to  whose  share  this  part  of  the  Tragedy  deToWed, 
has  managed  this  pathetic  introduction  with  consummate  skill 
and  great  expression  of  nature ;  a  noble  youth  in  the  last  state 
of  worldly  distress,  reduced  to  the  humiliating  yet  pious  office 
of  soliciting  an  unfeeling  and  un/riendly  judge  to  allow  him  to 
pay  the  solemn  rites  of  burial  to  the  remains  of  an  illustrious 
father,  who  had  fought  his  country's  battles  with  glory,  and  had 
sacrificed  life  and  fortune  in  the  defence  of  an  ingrateful  state, 
impresses  the  spectator's  mind  with  pity  and  respect,  which  are 
felt  through  every  passage  of  the  Play :  one  thing  in  particular 
strikes  me  at  the  opening  of  the  scene,  which  is  the  long  silence 
that  the  poet  has  artfully  imposed  upon  his  principal  character, 
(Charalois),  who  stands  in  mute  sorrow  with  his  petition  in  his 
hand,  whilst  his  friend  Romont,  and  his  advocate  Charmi,  urge 
him  to  present  himself  to  the  judges,  and  solicit  them  in  per. 
son :  the  judges  now  make  their  entrance,  they  stop  upon  the 
stagey  they  offer  him  the  fairest  opportunity  for  tendering  his 
petition  and  soliciting  his  suit:  Charalois  remains  fixed  and 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         467 

ipeechless ;  Romont,  wbo  is  all  eagerness  in  his  cause,  presses 
liim  again  and  again : 

**  Now,  put  on  your  spirits. — 

^^  Now,  sir,  lose  not  tliis  offered  means :  their  looks 

*^  Fix'd  on  jon  with  a  pitying  earnestness, 

^^  InTite  you  to  denuuid  their  furtherance 

**  To  your  good  purpose." 

The  judges  point  him  out  to  each  other ;  they  lament  the  mis* 
fortunes  of  his  noble  house ;  they  observe, 

*«  — — — -  It  is  young  Charaloisy 

*^  Son  to  the  marshal,  from  whom  he  inherits 
^^  His  fame  and  Tirtnes  only. 

^^  Rom,  Ha !  they  name  you. 

^^  Du  Croy*  His  father  died  in  pruon  two  days  since. 

^^  Rock.  Yes,  to  the  shame  of  this  ungrateful  state; 
^^  That  such  a  master  in  the  art  of  war^ 
**  So  noble  and  so  highly  meriting 
<<  From  this  forgetful  country,  should,  for  want 
*'  Of  means  to  satisfy  his  creditors 
^'  The  sums  he  took  up  for  the  general  good^ 
**  Meet  with  an  end  so  infamous. 

^^  Rom,  Dare  you  erer 
^^  Hope  for  like  opportunity  ?" 

It  is  in  rain ;  i^e  opportunity  passes  off,  and  Charalois  opens 
not  his  mouth,  nor  eyen  silently  tenders  his  petition. 

I  haTCi  upon  a  former  occasion,  both  generally  and  particu- 
larly observed  upon  the  effects  of  dramatic  silence :  the  stage 
cannot  afford  a  more  beautiful  and  touching  instance  than  this 
before  us :  to  say  it  is  not  inferior  to  the  silence  of  Hamlet 
upon  his  first  appearance,  would  be  saying  too  little  in  its  favour. 
I  have  no  doubt  butMassinger  had  this  very  case  in  his  thoughts, 
and  I  honour  him  no  less  iori  the  imitating,  than  I  should  hafe 
^  done  for  itriking  out  a  silence  so  naturally  and  so  delicately 
preserved.  What  could  Charalois  have  uttered  to  give  him  that 
interest  in  the  hearts  of  his  spectators,  which  their  own  conclu- 
sions during  his  affecting  silence  have  already  impressed  ?  No 
sooner  are  the  judges  gone,  than  the  ardent  Romont  agaia 
l>reaks  forth  ^ — 

«<  ■■  This  obstinate  spleen, 

'^  Tou  thinky  becomes  your  sorrow,  and  sorts  well 
<<  With  your  black  suits." 

This  is  Hamlet  himself,  his  inky  cloaky  and  cwtwnary  suits  of 
solemn  black.  The  character  of  Charalois  is  thus  fixed  before  h« 
speaks ;  the  poet's  art  has  given  the  prejudice  that  is  to  bear  hia 


468         THE  FATAL   DOWRY; 

in  oar  affections  through  all  the  succeeding  events  of  the  fahle ; 
and  a  'striking  contrast  is  established  between  the  undiscerniBg 
fiery  zeal  of  Romont,  and  Charalois'  fine  sensibility  and  high, 
born  dignity  of  soul. 

A  more  methodical  and  regular  dramatist  would  have  stopped 
here,  satisfied  that  the  impression  already  made  was  fully  suffi. 
cient  for  all  the  purposes  of  his  plot;  but  Massinger,  according 
to  the  busy  spirit  of  the  stage  for  which  he  wrote,  is  not  alarmed 
by  a  throng  of  incidents,  and  proceeds  to  open  the  court  and 
discnss  the  pleadings  on  the  stage :  the  advocate  Charmi,  in  a 
set  harangue,  moves  the  judges  for  dispensing  with  the  rigour 
of  the  law  in  faToutr  of  creditors,  and  for  rescuing  the  marshal's 
corpse  out  of  their  clutches  ;  -he  is  browbeaten  and  sil^iced  by 
the  presiding  judge,  old  Novall :  the  ptea  is  then  taken  up  by  the 
impetuoQS  Romont,  and  urged  with  so  much  personal  insolence, 
that  he  is  arrested  on  the  spot,  put  in  charge  of  the  officers  of 
the  court,  and  taken  to  prison.  This  is  a  very  striking  mode 
of  introducing  the  set  oration  of  Charalots ;  a  son  recounting 
the  military  achievements  of  a  newly  deceased  father,  and  im- 
ploring mercy  from  his  creditors  and  the  law  towards  his  unbu- 
ried  remains,  now  claims  the  attention  of  the  court,  who  had 
been  hitherto  unmoved  by  the  feeble  formality  of  a  hired 
pleader,  and  the  turbulent  passion  of  an  enraged  soldier.  Cha* 
ralois'  argument  takes  a  middle  Course  between  both;  the 
pious  feelings  of  a  son,  tempered  by  the  modest  manners  of  a 
gentleman :  the  creditors  however  are  implacable,  the  judge 
is  hostile,  and  the  law  mast  take  its  coarse : 

^*  Cred.  It  is  the  city  doctrine ; 
*^  We  stand  bound  to  maintain  it. 

^*  Choral,  Be  constant  in  it ; 
^^  And  since  you  are  as  merciless  in  your  n^itures, 
'^  As  base  and  mercenary  in  your  means 
<<  By  which  you  get  your  wealth,  I  will  not  urge 
^^  The  court  to  take  away  one  scruple  from 
<^  The  right  of  their  laws,  or  [wish]  one  good  thought 
^^  In  you  to  mend  your  disposition  with. 
^^  I  know  there  is  no  music  to  your  ears 
^'  So  pleasing  as  the  groans  of  men  in  prison^ 
^<  And  that  the  tears  of  widows,  and  the  cries 
^^  Of  famish >d  orphans,  are  the  feasts  that  take  you, 
^<  That  to  be  in  your  danger,  with  more  care 
^^  Should  be  avoided  than  infectious  air,  • 
^^  The  loathed  embraces  of  diseased  women, 
^^  A  flatterer's  poison,  or  the  loss  of  honour.—r 
^^  Yet  rather  tlma  my  father's  reverend  dust 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.        4.69^ 

^^  Shall  want  a  place  in  that  fair  monument, 

^'  In  which  oar  noble  ancestors  lie  intomb'd 

^*  Before  the  court  I  offer  up  myself 

^^  A  prisoner  for  it.     Load  me  with  those  irons 

^'  That  haTe  worn  out  his  life ;  in  my  best  strength 

^^  IMl  ran  to  the  encounter  of  cold,  hanger, 

^^  And  choose  my  dwelling  where  no  sun  dares  enter> 

*'  So  he  may  be  released." 

There  was  yet  another  incident,  which  the  poet's  passion  for 
business  and  spectacle  induced  him  to  aTail  himself  of,  tik.  th« 
funeral  of  the  marshal;  this  he  displays  on  the  stage,  with  a  train 
of  captains  and  soldiers  following  the  body  of  their  general : 
Charalois  and  Romont,  under  custody  of  their  gaolers,  appear 
as  chief  mourners,  and  a  party  of  creditors  are  concerned  in  the 
groupe. 

After  this  solemnity  is  dispatched,  the  poet  proceeds  to  de- 
velope  the  amiable  generosity  of  old  Rochfort,  who,  being 
touched  with  the  gallant  spirit  of  Romont,  and  still  more  pene- 
trated with  the  filial  piety  of  young  Charalois,  deliyers  them 
both  from  imprisonment  and  distress,  by  discharging  the  debts 
of  the  marshal,  and  dismissing  the  creditors:  this  also  passes 
before  the  eyes  of  the  spectators.  Before  Charalois  has  gi?en 
full  expression  to  his  gratitude  for  this  extraordinary  benefac. 
tion,  Rochfort  follows  it  with  a  further  act  of  bounty,  which  he 
introduces  in  the  style  of  a  request — 

^^  Call  in  my  daughter.     Still  I  have  a  suit  to  you, 
**  Would  you  requite  me. 
*'  This  is  my  only  child." 

fieaumelle,  Rochfort's  daughter,  is  presented  to* Charalois;  the 
scene  is  hurried  on  with  a  precipitation  almost  without  example : 
Charalois  asks  the  lady, 

^^  Fair  Beauroelle,  can  you  lore  me  ? 

*'  Beaumcl,  Yes,  my  lord. 

^^  CharaL  You  need  not  qnestion  me  if  I  can  you: 
^^  You  are  the  fairest  Tirgin  in  Dijon, 
^'  And  Rochfort  isyour  father." 

The  match  is  agreed  upon  as  soon  as  proposed,  and  Rochfort 
liastens  away  to  prepare  the  celebration. 

In  this  cluster  of  incidents  I  must  not  fail  to  remark,  that  th« 
poet  introduces  young  NoYali  upon  the  scene,  in  the  yery  mOi* 
ment  when  the  short  dialogue  above  quoted  was  pasting:  this 
Novall  had  befpre  been  exhibited  as  a  suitor  to  BeaumeUe,  and 
his  ?ain  frifolons  character  had  been  displayed  in  a  very  ridi- 
culous and  contemptible  light ;  he  is  now  again  introduced  to 

VOL.  III.  •  I  i 


470        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

be  a  witness  of  his  own  disappointment,  and  bis  only  obseira- 
tion  upon  it  is— -^^  What's  this  change?" — Upon  the  exit  of  the 
father,  however,  he  addresses  himself  to  the  lady,  and  her  reply 
gives  the  alarming  hint,  that  makes  discovery  of  the  fatal  turn 
which  the  plot  is  now  about  to  take ;  for  when  Novall  turning 
aside  to  Beaumelle,  by  one  word — ^^  Mistress  T'— ^;onveys  the 
reproach  of  inconstancy,  she  replies^ 

"  Oh,  servant ! — Virtue  strengthen  me ! 

^^  Thy  presence  blows  round  my  affection's  vane : — 

**  Yott  will  undo  me,  if  you  speak  again.*'  [ExU» 

Toung  Novall  is  left  on  the  scene  with  certain  followers  and 
dependants,  which  hang  upon  his  fortune,  one  of  which,  (Pon- 
talier  by  name,)  a  man  under  deep  obligations  to  him,  yet  of  art 
honest  nature,  advises  him  to  an  honourable  renunciatihn  of  all 
further  hopes  or  attempts  to  avail  himself  of  the  affections  of 
Bcaumelle— 

"  '  Though  you  have  saved  my  life, 

*^  Rescued  me  often  from  my  wants,  I  must  not 

^'  Wink  at  your  follies,  that  will  ruin  you. 

*^  You  know  my  blunt  way,  and  my  love  to  truth— 

^'  Forsake  the  pursuit  of  this  lady's  honour, 

'^  Now  you  do  see  her  made  another  man's." 

This  honourable  advice  is  rejected  with  contempt :  Novall,  in 
whose  mean  bosom  there  does  not  seem  a  trace  of  virtue,  avows 
a  determined  perseverance;  and  the  poet  having  in  this  hasty 
manner  completed  these  inauspicious  nuptialsi  closes  the  second 
act  of  his  Tragedy. 

We  have  now  expended  two  entire  acts  of  the  Fatal  Dowry, 
in  advancing  to  that  period  in  the  fable^  at  which  the  Tragedy 
of  the  Fair  Penitent  opens.  If  the  author  of  this  Tragedy 
thought  it  necessary  to  contract  Massinger's  plot,  and  found 
one  upon  it  of  a  more  regular  construction,  I  know  not  how  he 
could  do  this  any  otherwise,  than  by  taking  up  the  story  at  the 
point  where  -we  have  now  left  it,  and  throwing  the  antecedent 
matter  into  narration ;  and  though  these  two  prefatory  acts  are 
full  of  very  affecting  incidents,  yet  the  pathos  which  properly 
appertains  to  the  plot,  and  ^conduces  to  the  catastrophe  of  the 
Tragedy,  does  not  in  strictness  take  place  before  the  event^of 
ihe  marriage.  No  critic  will  say  that  the  pleadings  before  the 
jiidges,  the  interference  of  the  creditors,  the  distresses  of  Char* 
ralois,  or  the  funeral  of  the  marshal,  are  necessary  parts  of  the 
drama ;  at  the  same  time  no  reader  will  deny  (and  neither 
cou.ld  Rowe  himself  overlpok)  the  effect  of  these  incidents  :  he 
could  jiot  fail  to  foresee  that  he  was  to  sacrifice  lety  oiuch  of 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY/        471 

.  the  interest  of  his  fable,  when  he  was  to  throw  that  upon  nar*- 
ration,  which  his  original  had  gi^en  in  spectacle ;  and  the  loss 
was  more  enhanced  by  falling  iipon  the  hero  of  the  drama;  for 
who  that  compares  Charalois,  at  the  end  of  the  second  act  of 
Massinger,  With  Rowe's  Altamont  at  the  opening  scene  of  the 
Fair  Penitent^  can  doubt  which  character  has  most  interest  with 
the  spectators  ?  We  have  seen  the  former  in  all  the  most  amia- 
ble offices  which  filial  pietj  could  perform ;  enduring  insults 
from  his  inveterate,  oppressors,  and  voluntarily  surrending  him- 
self to  a  prison  to  ransome  the  dead  body  of  his  father  from  un-' 
relenting  creditors.  Altamont  presents  himself  before  us  in  his 
wedding  suit,  in  the  splendour  of  fortune,  and  at  the  summit  of 
happiness  ;  he  greets  us  with  a  bnrst  of  exultation— 

^^  Let  this  auspicious  day  be  ever  sabred, 

^^  No  mourning,  no  misfortunes  happen  on  it ; 

^^  Let  it  be  markM  for  triumphs  and  rejoicings ! 

^'  Let  happy  lovers  ever  make  it  holy, 

^^  Choose  it  to  bless  their  hopes  and  crown  their  wishes; 

**  This  happy  day,  that  gives  me  my  Calistal" 

The  rest  of  the  scene  is  employed  by  him  and  Horatio  alternately 
in  recounting  the  benefits  conferred  upon  them  by  the  generous  ^ 
Sciolto ;  and  the  very  same  incident  of  the  seizure  of  his  father's 
corpse  by  the  creditors,  and  his  redemption  of  it,  is  recited  by 
Horatio: — 

it  M    ■  When  his  hard  creditors^ 

''  Urged  and  assisted  by  Lothario's  father, 

^^  (Foe  to  thy  house  and  rival  of  their  greatness,) 

^^  liy  sentence  of  the  cruel  law  forbade 

*^  Hiy  venerable  corpse  to  rest  in  earth, 

5'  Thou  gavest  thyself  a  ransome  for  his  bones ; 

"  With  piety  uncommon  didst  give  up 

^^  Thy  hopeful  youth  to  slaves,  who  ne'er  knew  mercy.'* 

It  is  not  however  within  the  reach  of  this,  or  any  other  descrip- 
tion, to  place-Altamont  in  that  interesting  and  amiable  light,  as 
circumstances  have  already  placed  Charalois;  the  happy  and 
exulting  bridegroom  may  be  an  object  of  our  congratulation, 
but  the  virtuous  and  suffering  Charalois  engages  our  pity,  love, 
and  admiration.  If  Rowe  would  have  his  audience  credit 
Altamont  for  that  filial  piety,  which  marks  the  character  he 
copied  from,  it  was  a  small  oversight  to  put  the  following  ex* 
pression  into  his  mouth — 

^^  Oh,  great  Sciolto !  Oh,  my  more  than  father  1" 

A  closer  attention  to  character  would  have  reminded  him  that 
it  was  possible  for  Altamont  to  express  his  gratitude  to  Sciolte 

*Ii2 


47«        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

withont  setting  him  aboTe  a  father,  to  whose  memory  he  had 
paid  such  deTotion. 

From  this  contraction  of  his  plot,  bj  the  defalcation  of  so 
manj  pathetic  incidents,  it  became  impossible  for  the  anthor  of 
the  Fair  Penitent  to  make  his  Altamont  the  hero  of  his  Tragedy, 
and  the  leading  part  is  taken  from  him  by  Horatio,  and  e?en  by 
Lothario,  throughoat  the  drama.  There  are  several  reasons, 
which  concur  to  sink  Altamont  upon  the  comparison  with  Cha- 
ralois,  the  chief  of  which  arises  from  the  capti?ating  colours  in. 
which  Rowf  has  painted  his  libertine :  on  the  contrary,  Mas- 
singer  gives  a  contemptible  picture  of  his  young  Novall;  he 
makes  him  not  only  vicious^  but  ridiculous;  in  foppery  and 
impertinence  he  is  the  counterpart  of  Shakspeare's  Osrick ;  vain-* 
glorious,  purse*proud,  and  orerbearing  amongst  his  dependants; 
a  spiritless  poltroon  in  his  Interview  with  Romont.  ^^  Lothario,'' 
as  Johnson  observes,  ^^  with  gaiety  which  cannot  be  hated,  and 
bravery  which  cannot  be  despised,  retains  too  much  of  the 
spectator's  kindness.''  His  high  spirit,  brilliant  qualities,  and 
fine  person  are  so  described,  as  to  put  us  in  danger  of  false  im- 
pressions in  his  favour,  and  to  set  the  passions  in  opposition  to 
the  moral  of  the  piece :  I  suspect  that  the  gallantry  of  Lothario 
makes  more  advocates  for  Calista  than  she  ought  to  have. 
There  is  another  consideration,  which  operates  against  Alta- 
mont, and  it  is  an  Indelicacy  in  his  character,  which  the  poet 
should  have  provided  against:  he  marries  Calista  with  the  full 
persuasion  of  her  being  averse  to  the  match ;  in  his  first  meeting 
with  Sciolto  he  say^  ■  ■  ■■ 

^'  Ohl  could  I  hope  there  was  one  thought  of  Altamont, 

^^  One  kind  remembrance  in  Calista'd  breast-— 

^*  '  I  found  her  cold 

^'  As  a  dead  lover's  statue  on  his  tomb; 

^^  A  rising  storm  of  passion  shook  her  breast, 

^'  Her  eyes  a  piteous  shower  of  tears  let  fall, 

^'  And  then  she  sigh'd  as  if  her  heart  were  breaking. 

'^  With  all  the  tenderest  eloquence  of  love 

^*  I  begg'd  to  be  a  sharer  in  her  grief; 

*^  But  she,  with  looks  averse,  and  eyes  that  froze  me, 

**  Sadly  replied,  her  sorrows  were  her  own, 

"  JNor  in  a  father's  power  to  dispose  of." 

I  am  aware  that  Sciolto  attempts  to  parry  these  facts,  by  an 
interpretation  too  gross  and  unbecoming  for  a  father's  character, 
and  only  fit  for  the  lips  of  a  Lothario ;  but  yet  it  is  not  in 
nature  to  appose  that  Altamont  could  mistake  such  syn^toms, 
and  it  fiif  s  a  meanness  upon  him,  which  pre? ails  against  hif 


THE  FATAL  DO\<^RY.        473 

Tliaracter  throughout  the  play.  Nothing  of  this  sort,  could  be 
discovered  by  Masstnger's  bridegroom,  for  the  ceremony  was 
agreed  upon  and  performed  at  the  Tery  first  inter? lew  of  the 
parties;  Beanmelle  gare  a  full  and  unreserfed  assent,  and 
though  her  character  suffers  on  the  score  of  hypocrisy  on  that 
account,  yet  Charalois  is  sared  by  it :  less  hypocrisy  appears 
in  Calista,  bnt  hers  is  the  deeper  guilt,  because  she  was  already 
dishonoured  by  Lothario,  and  Beaumelle's  coquetry  with  Novall 
had  not  yet  reached  the  length  of  criminality.  Add  to  this,  thai 
Altamont  appears  in  the  contemptible  light  of  a  suitOF,  whom 
Calista  had  apprised  of  her  arersion,  and  to  whom  she  had  done 
a  deliberate  act  of  dishonour,  though  his  person  and  character 
must  hare  been  long  known  to  her.  The  case  is  far  otherwise 
between  Charalois  and  Beaumelle,  who  ncTer  met  before,  and 
every  care  is  taken  by  the  poet  to  save  his  hero  from  such  a 
deliberate  injury,  as  might  convey  contempt;  with  this  view  the 
marriage  is  precipitated  ;  nothing  is  allowed  to  pass,  that  might 
open  the  character  of  Charalois  to  Beaumelle :  she  is  hurried 
into  an  assignation  with  Novall  immediately  upon  her  marriage; 
every  artifice  of  seduction  is  employed  by  her  confidante  Bella- 
pert,  and  Aymer,  the  parasite  of  Novall,  to  make  the  meeting 
criminal ;  she  falls  the  victim  of  passion,  and  when  detection 
brings  her  to  a  sense  of  her  guilt,  she  makes  this  penitent  and 
pathetic  appeal  to  Charaloia 

«  Oh  my  fate ! 

^^  That  never  wou4d  consent  that  I  should  see 
'^  How  worthy  you  were  both  of  love  and  duty, 
**  Before  I  lost  you  ;  and  my  misery  made 
^^  The  glass  in  which  I  now  behold  your  virtue  ^ 
*^  With  justice  therefore  you  may  cut  me  off, 
'^  And  from  your  memory  wash  the  remembrance 
^^  That  e'er  I  was ;  like  to  some  vicious  purpose, 
"  Which,  in  your  better  judgment,  you  repent  of, 

.**  And  study  to  forget 

««  Vet  yott  shall  find, 

'^  Though  I  was  bold  enough  to  be  a  strumpet, 

*'  I  dare  not  yet  live  one.    Let  those  famed  matrons^ 

•*  That  are  canonized  worthy  of  our  sex, 

**  Transcend  me  in  their  sanctity  of  life ; 

**  I  yet  will  equal  them  in  dying  nobly, 

^^  Ambitious  of  no  honour  after  life, 

^^  But  that,  when  I  am  dead,  you  will  forgive  me."^ 

Compare  this  with  the  conduct  of  Calista,  and  then  decide  which 
frail  fair  one  has  the  better  title  to  the  appellation  of  a  penitent^ 
and  which  drama  conveys  the  better  moral  by  its  catastrophe.. 


474        THE   FATAL  DOWRY. 

There  is  indeed  a  grossness  in  the  older  poet^iwhich  his  more 
modern  imitator  has  refined;  but  he  has  only  sweetened  the 
poison«  not  removed  its  ? enom ;  nay,  hy  how  much  more  palata- 
ble he  has  made  it,  so  much  more  pernicious  it  is  become  in  his 
tempting,  sparkling  cup,  than  in  the  coarse  deterring  dose  of 
Massiuger. 

Rowe  has  no  doubt  greatly  outstepped  his  original  in  the 
striking  character  of  Lothario,  who  lea? cs  Novall  as  far  behind 
him  as  Charalois  does  Altamont :  it  is  admitted  then  that  Calista 
has  as  good  a  plea  as  any  wanton  could  wish,  to  urge  for  her 
criminality  with  Lothario,  and  the  poet  has  not  spared  the  ear 
of  modesty  in  his  exaggerated  description  of  the  guilty  scene; 
erery  luxurious  image,  that  his  inflamed  imagination  could 
crowd  into  the  glowing  rhapsody  is  there  to  be  found,  and  the 
whole  is  recited  in  numbers  so  flowing  and  harmonious,  that 
they  not  only  arrest  the  passions  but  the  memory  also,  and  per- 
haps have  been,  and  still  can  be,  as  generally  repeated  as  any 
passage  in  English  poetry.  Massinger,  with  less  elegance,  but 
not  with  less  regard  to  decency,  suffers  the  guilty  act  to  pass 
within  the  course  of  his  drama ;  the  greater  refinement  of  man- 
ners in  Rowe's  day  did  not  allow  of  this,  and  he  anticipitated 
the  incident;  but  when  he  reyived  the  recollection  of  it  by  such ' 
a  studied  description,  he  plainly  shewed  that  it  was  not  from 
moral  principle  that  he  omitted  it;  and  if  ho  has  presented  his 
heroine  tp  the  spectators  with  more  immediate  delicacy  during 
the  compass  of  the  play,  he  has  at  the  same  time  given  her  greater 
depravity  of  mind;  her  manners  may  be  more  refined,  but  her 
principle  is  fouler  than  Beamelle'^  Calista,  who  yielded  to  the 
gallant,  gay  Lothario,  ^^  hot  with  the  Tuscan  grape,"  might 
perhaps  have  disdained  a  lover  who  addressed  her  in  the  holiday 
language  which  Novall  uses  to  Beaumelle:  ^ 

*^  Best  day  to  nature's  curiosity, 

**  Star  of  Dijon,  the  lustre  of  all  France ! 

^^  Perpetual  spring  dwell  on  thy  rosy  cheeks, 

**  Whose  breath  is  perfume  to  our  continent!— 

*'  See !  Flora  trimm'd  in  her  varieties.     ■ 

^'  No  autumn  nor  no  age  ever  approach 

'*  This  heavenly  piece,  which  nature  ba?ing  wrought, 

^^  She  lost  her  needle,  and  did  then  despair 

**  Ever  to  work  so  lively  and  so  fair!" 

The  letter  of  Calista  (which  brings  about  the  discovery  by  the . 
poor  expedient  of  Lothario's  dropping  it  and  Horatio's  finding 
it)  has  not  even  the  merit  of  being  characteristically  wicked, 
and  is   both  in  its  matter  and  mode  below  tragedy.     It  is, 
Lotharie's  cruelty  has  det^mmed  her  to  yield  a  perfect  obedience 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.        47i 

to  her  fatkeTf^and  give  her  hand  to  Altamont^  in  spite  of  her 'weak- 
ness for  the  false  Lothario, — If  the  lady  had  gifen  her  perfect 
obedience  its  true  denomination,  she  had  called  it  a  most  dis- 
honourable compliance;  and,  if  we  may  take  Lothario's  word, 
(who  seems.full  correct  enough  in  describing  facts  and  particu- 
lars,) she  had  not  much  cause  to  complain  of  his  being  false; 
for  he  tells  Rossano : 

^^  I  liked  her,  would  have  married  her, 

^^  But  that  it  pleased  her  father  to  refuse  me, 

*^  To  make  this  honourable  fool  her  husband.'* 

It  appears  by  this,  that  Lothario  had  not  heenfalse  to  her  in  the- 
article  of  marriage,  though  he  might  have  been  cruel  to  her  on 
the  score  of  passion,  which  indeed  is  confessed  on  his  part  with 
as  much  cold  indiff'erence^  as  the  most  barefaced  avowal  could 
express. — But  to  return  to  the  letter:  She  proceeds  to  tell  him 
— that  she  could  almost  wish  she  had  that  heart,  and  that  honour 
to  bestow  with  ity  which  he  has  robbed  her  of— But  lest  this  half 
wish  should  startle  him,  she  adds — But  oh!  I  fear,  could  I  re- 
iricve  them,  I  should  again  be  undone  by  the  too  faithless^  yet  too 
lovely  Lothario, — ^This  mast  be  owned  as  full  a  reason  as  she 
could  give,  why  she  should  only  almost  wish  for  her  lost  honour, 
when  she  would  make  such  an  use  of  it,  if  she  had  it  again  at 
her  disposal.  And  yet  the  very  next  paragraph  throws  every 
thing  into  contradiction,  for  she  tells  him — this  is  the  last  weak' 
ness  of  her  pen,  and  to  morrow  shall  be  the  last  in  which  she  will 
indulge  her  eyes.  If  she  could  keep  to  that  resolution,  I  must 
think  the  recovery  of  her  innocence  would  have  been  worth  a 
whole  wish,  and  many  a  wish ;  unless  we  are  to  suppose  she 
was  80  devoted  to  guilt,  that  she  could  take  delight  in  reflecting 
upon  it:  this  is  a  state  depravity,  which  human  nature  hardly  Cri 
ever  attains,  and  seeraf  peculiar  to  Calista*  She  now  grows  ^ 
Tery  humble,  and  concludes  in  a  style  well  suited  to  her  humility 
^^Luctlla  shall  conduct  you,  if  you  are  kind  enough  to  let  me  see 
you;  it  shall  be  the  last  trouble  you  shall  meet  with  from 

The  lost  Calista. 

It  was  Tery  ill  done  of  Horatio's  curiosity  to  read  this  letter, 
and  I  must  erer  regret  that  he  has  so  unhandsomely  exposed  a 
lady's  private  correspondence  to  the  world. 

Though  the  part  which  Heratio  takes  in  the  business  of  the 
drama  is  exactly  that  which  falls  to  the  share  of  Romont  in  the 
Fatal  Dffwry,  yet  their  characters  are  of  a  very  diflferent  cast ; 
for,  as  Rowe  had  bestowed  the  fire  and  impetuosity  of  Romont 
Upon  his  Lothario,  it  was  a  very  judicious  opposition  to  contrast 
it  with  the  cool  deliberate  courage  of  the  sententious  Horatio, 
the  friend  and  brother-in-law  of  Altamont* 


476         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

When  Horatio  has  read  Calista's  Tetter,  which  Lothario  liad 
dropped,  (an  accident  which  more  frequently  happens  to  gentle- 
men in  comedies  than  in  tragedies,)  he  falls  into  a  rery  long 
meditation,  and  closes  it  with  putting  this  question  to  himself: 

^^  What  if  I  gif  e  this  paper  to  her  father  ? 
^^  It  follows  that  his  justice  dooms  her  dead, 
*^  And  breaks  his  heart  with  sorrow ;  hard  return 
^^  For  all  the  good  his  hand  has  heap'd  on  us  I 
**  Hold,  let  me  take  a  moment's  thought. " 

At  this  moment  he  is  interrupted  in  his  reflections  by  the  pre« 
sence  of  Lavinia,  whose  tender  solicitude  fills  up  the  remaining 
part  of  the  dialogue,  and  concludes  the  act  without  any  decisiye 
resolution  on  the  part  of  Horatio ;  an  incident  well  contrired, 
and  introduced  wi^h  much  dramatic  skill  and  effect:  though 
pressed  by  his  wife  to  disclose  the  cause  of  his  uneasiness,  he 
does  not  impart  to  her  the  fatal  discovery  he  has  made ;  this 
also  is  well  in  character.  Upon  his  next  entrance  he  has  with, 
drawn  himself  from  the  company,  and  being  alone  resumes  his 
meditation : 

"  What,  if,  while  alt  are  here  intent  on  revelling, 

'^  I  privately  went  forth  and  sought  Lothario  ? 

^'  This  letter  may  be  forged  ;  perhaps  the  wantonness 

^^  Of  his  vain  youth  to  stain  a  lady's  fame ; 

^^  Perhaps  his  malice  to  disturb  my  friend. 

*^  Oh  !  no,  my  heart  forbodes  it  must  be  true. 

^^  Methought  e'en  now  I  mark'd  the  starts  of  guilt 

^^  That  shook  her  soul,  though  damn'd  dissimulation 

^^  Screened  her  dark  thoughts,  and  set  to  public  view 

'^  A  specious  face  of  innocence  and  beauty." 

This  soliloquy  is  succeeded  by  the  much-admired  and  striking 
scene  between  him  and  Lothario ;  rigid  criticism  might  wish  t^ 
abridge  some  of  the  sententious  declamatory  speeches  of  Horatio, 
and  shorten  the  dialogue  to  quicken  the  effect ;  but  the  moral 
sentiment  and  harmonious  versification  are  much  too  charming 
to  be  treated  as  intruders,  and  the  author  has  also  struck  upon 
a  natural  expedient  for  prolongii^g  the  dialogue,  without  any 
violence  to  probability,  by  the  interposition  of  Rossano,  whp 
acts  as  a  mediator  between  the  hostile  parties.  This  interposi- 
tion  is  further  necessary  to  prevent  a  decisive  rencounter,  for 
which  the  fable  is  not  ripe;  neither  would  it  be  proper  for 
Horatio  to  anticipate  the  revenge,  which  is  reserved  for  Alta- 
mont:  the  altercation  therefore  closes  with  a  challenge  from 
Lothario : 

^^  West  of  the  town  a  mile,  amongst  the  rocks. 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         477 

^^  Two  botirs  ere  noon  to  morrow  I  expect  thee ; 
^^  Thy  single  hand  to  miQe." 

The  place  of  meeting  is  not  well  ascertained,  and  the  time  is  too 
long  deferred  for  strict  probability ;  there  are,  however,  certain 
thing*  in  all  dramas^  which  must  not  be  too  rigidly  insisted  upon, 
and  proTided  no  extraordinary  riolence  is  done  to  reason  and 
common  sense,  the  candid  critic  ought  to  let  them  pass :  this  I 
take  to  be  a  case  in  point ;  and  though  Horatio's  cool  courage 
and  ready  presence  of  mind,  are  not  just  the  qualities  to  recon- 
cile  us  to  such  an  orersight,  yet  I  see  no  reason  to  be  severe  upon 
the  incident,  which  is  followed  by  his  immediate  recollection : 

^^  Two  hours  ere  noon  to  morrow !  Hah !  Ere  that 

^'  He  sees  Calista.— 'Oh !  unthinking  fool ! 

^^  What  if  I  urged  her  with  the  crime  and  danger  ? 

^^  If  any  spark  from  heaven  remain  unquench'd 

^'  Within  her  breast,  my  breath  perhaps  may  wake  it. 

^'  Could  I  but  prosper  there,  I  would  not  doubt 

^^  My  combat  with  that  loud  vain-glorious  boaster." 

Whether  this  be  a  measure  altogether  in  character  with  a  man 
of  Horatio's  good  sense  and  discretion,  I  must  own  is  matter 
-of  doubt  with  me.  I  think  he  appears  fully  satisfied  of  her  actual 
criminality ;  and  in  that  case  it  would  be  more  natural  for  him 
to  lay  his  measures  for  intercepting  Lothario,  and  preventing  the 
assignation,  than  to  try  his  rhetorick  in  the  present  crisis  upon 
the  agitated  mind  of  Calista.  As  it  has  justly  occurred  to  him, 
that  he  has  been  over-reached  by  Lothario  in  the  postponement 
of  the  duel,  the  measure  J  suggest  would  naturally  tend  to  hasten 
that  rencounter.  Now,  though  the  business  of  the  drama  may 
require  an  explanation  between  Horatio  and  Calista,  whereupon 
to  ground  an  occasion  for  his  interesting  quarrel  with  Altamont; 
yet  I  do  not  see  any  necessity  to  make  that  a  premeditated  ex» 
planation,  nor  to  sacrifice  character,  by  a  measure  that  is  incon- 
sistent  with  the  better  judgment  of  Horatio.  The  poet,  however^ 
has  decreed  it  otherwise,  and  a  deliberate  interview  with  Calista 
and  Horatio  accordingly  takes  place.  This,  although  intro. 
duced  with  a  solemn  invocation  on  his  p^rt,  is  very  clumsilj 
conducted : 

^^  Teach  me,  some  Power !  that  happy  art  of  speeob 
'  ^'  To  dress  my  purpose  up  in  gracious  words, 
^'  Such  as  may  softly  steal  upon  her  soul, 
'^  And  never  waken  the  tempestuous  passions." 

Who  can  expect,  after  this  preparation^  to  hear  Horatio  thai 
break  his  secret  to  Calista  ? 

*^  Lothario  and  Calista!— Thus  they  join 

^'  Two  namesi  which  heaven  decreed  should  never  meet. 


478        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

'^  Hence  bare  the  talkers  of  this  populous  citf 
^^  A  shameful  tale  to  tell  for  public  sport, 
^^  Of  an  unhappy  beauty,  a  false  fair  one, 
^^  Who  plighted  to  a  noble  youth  her  faith, 
^^  When  she  had  given  her  hoiiour  to  a  wretch/' 

This  I  hold  to  b^  totally  out  of  nature ;  first,  because  it  is  a  pal-' 
.|)able  departure  from  his  resolution  to  use  ^^  gracious  words  ;'* 
next,  •because  it  has  a  certain  tendency  to  produce  rage  and  not 
repentance  ;  and  thirdly,  because  it  is  founded  in  exaggeration 
and  falsehood  ;  for  how  is  he  warranted  to  say  that  the  story  is 
the  public  talk  and  sport  of  the  city  ?  If  it  were  so,  what  can 
his  interference  arail  ?  why  seek  this  interview  ? 

<^  Why  come  to  tell  her  how  she  might  be  happy  ? 
^'  To  sooth  the  secret  anguish  of  her  soul  ? 
^^  To  comfort  that  fair  mourner,  that  forlorn  one, 
'^  And  teach  her  steps  to  know  the  paths  of  peace  ?" 

No  judge  of  nature  will  think  he  takes  the  means  to  lead  her 
into  the  '^  paths  of  peace,"  by  hurrying  her  to  the  very  brink 
of  desperation.  I  need  not  enlarge  upon  this  obserration,  and 
-shall  therefore  only  remark,  that  the  scene  breaks  up,  as  might 
lie  expected,  with  the  following  proof  of  her  penitence,  and  hit 
success  in  persuasion : 

"  Henceforth,  thou  officious  fool, 

**  Meddle  no  more,  nor  dare,  even  on  thy  life, 

^^  To  breathe  an  accent  that  may  touch  my  virtue : 

^^  I  am  myself  the  guardian  of  my  honour, 

^'  And  will  not  bear  so  insolent  a  monitor." 

Let  us  now  enquire  how  Romont  (the  Horatio  of  Massinger) 
conducts  this  incident,  a  character  from  whom  less  discretion  is 
to  be  expected  than  from  his  philosophical  successor.  Romont 
himself  discovers  Beaumelle  and  Novall  engaged  in  the  most 
wanton  familiarities,  and  with  a  warmth  suitable  to  his  zeal, 
l)reaks  up  the  amorous  conference  by  driving  Novall  off  the 
scene  with  ineffable  contempt :  he  then  applies  himself  to  the 
]ady,  and  with  a  yery  natural  and  manly  spirit  says, 

<^  ■  I  respect  you, 

^  ^'  Not  for  yourself,  but  in  remembrance  of 
^^  Who  is  your  father,  and  whose  wife  you  now  are." 

She  replies  to  him  with  contempt  and  ridicule ;  he  resumes  th» 
same  characteristic  strain  he  set  out  with,  and  proceeds : 
<«  ,  ,  My  intents, 

^^  Madam,  deserve  not  tiiis ;  nor  do  I  stay 
^'  To  be  the  whetstone  of  your  wit :  preserre  it 
<<  To  spend  on  such  as  know  how  to  admire 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         479 

^'  Sneh  coloured  staff.    Id  me,  there  now  speaks  to  jon 
^^  As  true  a  friend  and  servant  to  your  honour, 
^^  And  one  that  will  with  as  much  hazard  guard  it, 

^'  As  erer  roan  did  goodness : but  then>  lady, 

^^  You  must  endeafoar,  not  alone  to  be, 

^^  But  to  APPEAR,  worthy  such  lo? e  and  seryice." 

We  have  just  now  heard  Horatio  reproach  Calista  with  tha 
reports  that  were  circulated  against  her  reputation ;  let  nt 
compare  it  with  what  Romont  says  upon  the  same  subject : 

<« But  yet  be  careful : 

^^  Detraction's  a  bold  monster,  and  fears  not 

^^  To  wound  the  fame  of  princes,  if  it  find 

^^  But  any  blemish  in  their  liyes  to  work  on* 

^'  But  I'll  be  plainer  with  you  :  had  the  people 

^^  Been  leatn'd  to  speak>but  what  even  now  I  saw^ 

^^  Their  malice  out  of  that  would  raise  an  engine 

*^  To  overthrow  your  honour.     In  my  sight, 

^^  With  yonder  painted  fool  I  frighted  from  you, 

'^  Yon  used  familiarity  beyond 

^^  A  modest  entertainment :  yon  embraced  him 

''  With  too  much  ardour  for  a  stranger,  and 

^^  Met  him  with  kisses  neither  chaste  nor  comely. 

^'  But  learn  you  to  forget  him,  as  I  will 

^'  Your  bpnnties  to  him ;  you  will  find  it  safer 

*^  Rather  to  be  uncourtly  than  immodest." 

What  avails  it  to  attempt  drawing  a  comparison  between  this 
conduct  and  that  of  Horatio's,  where  no  comparison  is  to  be 
made  ?  I  leave  it  to  the  reader,  and  decline  a  task  at  once  so 
unnecessary  and  ungrateful. 

When  Romont  finds  no  impression  is  to  be  made  upon  Beau* 
melle,  he  meets  her  father,  and  immediately  falls  into  the  sam# 
reflection  that  Horatio  had  struck  upon : 

" Her  father  ?— ha! 

^^  How  if  I  break  this  to  him  ?  sure  it  cannot 
^^  Meet  with  an  ill  construction  :  his  wisdom, 
^'  Made  powerful  by  the  authority  of  a  father, 
'^  Will  warrant  and  give  privilege  to  his  counsels* 
^^  It  shall  be  so. — » 

If  this  step  needs  excuse,  the  reader  will  consider  that  it  is  a 
step  of  prevention^.  The  experiment  however  fails,  and  he  is 
rebuffed  with  some  asperity  by  Rochfort ;  this  draws  on  a  scene 
between  him  and  Charalois,  which,  as  it  is  too  long  to  transcribe^ 
so  it  is  throughout  too  excellent  to  extract  any  part  from  it.  I 
cjln  only  express  my  surprise,  that  the  author  oUke  Fair  Fenitent^ 


480         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

with  this  scene  before  him,  could  condoct  his  inter? iew  between 
Altamont  and  Horatio  upon  a  plan  so  widely  different,  and  so 
much  inferior  :  I  must  suppose  he  thought  it  a  strong  incident 
to  make  Altamont  give  a  blow  to  his  friend,  else  he  might  have 
seen  an  interview  carried  on  with  infinitely  more  spirit,  both  of 
language  and  character,  between  Charalois  and  Romont,  in  cir- 
cumstances exactly  similar,  where  no  such  violence  was  com- 
mitted, or  even  meditated.  Was  it  because  Pierre  had  given  a 
blow  to  Jaffier,  that  Altamont  was  to  repeat  the  like  indignity 
to  Horatio,  for  a  woman,  of  whose  aversion  he  had  proofs  not 
to  be  mistaken  ?  Charalois  is  a  character  at  least  as  high  and 
irritable  as  Altamont,  and  Romont  is  out  of  all  comparison  more 
rough  and  plain-spoken  than  Horatio  :  Charalois  might  be  de- 
ceived  into  an  opinion  of  Reaumelle's  affection  for  him  ; 'Alta- 
mont could  not  deceive  hiu^self  into  such  a  notion,  and  the  lady 
bad  testified  her  dislike  of  him  in  the  strongest  terms,  accom- 
panied with  sjrmptoms  which  he  himself  had  described  as  indi- 
cating some  rooted  and  concealed  affliction :  could  any  solution 
be  more  natural  than  what  Horatio  gives?  Novall  was  a  rival 
80  contemptible,  that  Charalois  could  not,  with  any  degree  of 
probability,  consider  him  as  an  object  of  his  jealousy ;  it  would 
have  been  a  degradation  of  his  character,  had  he  yielded  to  such 
a  suspicion :  Lothario,  on  the  contrary,  was  of  all  men  living 
the  most  to  be  apprehended  by  a  husband,  let  his  confidence  or 
vanity  be  ever  so  great.  Rowe,  in  his  attempt  to  surprise^  has 
sacrificed  nature  and  the  truth  of  character  for  stage-effect; 
Massinger,  by  preserving  both  nature  and  character,  has  con. 
dupted  his  friends -through  an  angry  altercation  with  infinitely 
more  spirit,  more  pathos,  and  more  dramatic  effect,  and  yet  dis. 
missed  them  with  the  following  animated  and  affecting  speech 
from  Charalois  to  his  friend : 

ii Thou  art  not  my  friend, 

^^  Or  being  so,  thou  art  mad :  1  must  not  buy 

^^  Thy  friendship  at  this  rate.    Had  I  just  cause, 

^^  Thou  know'st  I  durst  pursue  such  injury 

*^  Through  fire,  air,  water,  earth,  nay,  were  they  all 

^^  Shuffled  again  to  chaos ;  but  there's  none. 

^^  Thy  skill,  Romont,  consists  in  camps,  not  courts. 

^'  Farewell,  uncivil  man  !  let's  meet  no  more  ; 

^^  Here  our  long  web  of  friendship  I  untwist. 

^'  Shall  I  go  whine,  walk  pale,  and  lock  my  wife^ 

^'  For  nothing,  from  her  birth's  free  Fiberty, 

<^  That  open'd  mine  to  me  ?  yes ;  if  I  do, 

^^  The  name  of  cuckold  then  dog  me  with  scorn  I 

^^  I  am  a  Frenchman,  no  Italian  born."  \Exitm 


THE   FATAL  DOWRY.         4Sl 

It  18  plain  that  Altamont  at  least  was  an  exception  to  thti 
temark  upon  Italian  husbands:  I  shall  pursue  this  comparison 
no  further,  nor  offer  any  other  remark  upon  the  incident  of  the 
blow  given  by  Altamont,  except  with  regard  to  Horatio's  con** 
duct  upon  receiving  it ;  he  draws  his  sword,  and  immediately 
suspends  resentment  upon  the  following  motive  : 

"  Yet  hold !  By  heav'n,  his  father's  in  his  face ! 

'*^  Spite  of  my  wrongs,  my  heart  run's  o'er  with  tenderness, 

^^  And  I  could  rather  die  myself  than  hurt  him." 

We  must  suppose  it  was  the  martial  attitude  that  Altamont  ha^ 
put  himself  into,  which  brought  the  resemblance  of  his  father  so 
strongly  to  the  observation  of  Horatio,  otherwise  it  was  a  very' 
unnatural  moment  to  recollect  it  in,  when  he  had  just  received 
the  deepest  insult  one  man  can  give  to  another :  it  is  however 
worth  a  remark,  that  this  father  of  Altamont  should  act  on  both 
sides,  and  yet  miscarry  in  his  mediation ;  for  it  is  but  a  few 
passages  before  that  Altamont  says  to  Horatio : 

"  Thou  wert  my  father's  friend ;  he  lov'd  thee  well; 
^^  A  Tenerable  mark  of  him 

'^  Hangs  round  thee,  and  protects  thee  from  my  Tengeanc«» 
'^  I  cannot,  dare  not  lift  my  sword  against  thee." 

What  this  mark  was  is  left  to  conjecture  ;  but  it  is  plain  it  was 
as  seasonable  for  Horatio's  rescue  at  this  moment,  as  it  was  for 
Altamont  a  few  moments  after,  who  had  certainly  orerlooked 
it  when  he  struck  the  very  friend  against  whom  he  could  no^ 
dared  not  lift  his  sword, , 

When  I^vinia's  entrance  has  parted  Altamont  and  Horatio^ 
her  husband  complains  to  her  of  the  ingratitade  with  which  h# 
has  been  treated,  and  says  ; 

^'  He,  who  was  all  to  me  child,  brother,  friend, 
^^  With  barbarous  bloody  malice  sought  my  life.'^ 

These  are  very  extraordinary  terms  for  a  man  like  Horatio  to 
use,  and  seem  to  convey  a  charge  very  unfit  for  him  to  make^ 
and  of  a  very  different  nature  from  the  hasty  insult  he  had 
received  ;  in  fact  it  appears  as  if  the  blow  had  totally  reversed 
his  character,  for  the  resolution  he  takes  in  consequence  of  this 
personal  affront,  is  ji|8t  such  an  one  as  would  be  only  taken  by 
the  man  who  dared  not  to  resent  it : 

^^  From  Genoa,  from  falsehood  and  inconstancy^ 
^^  To  some  more  honest  distant  clime  we'll  go ; 
"  Nor  will  I  be  beholden  to  my  country 
^'  For  aught  but  thee,  the  partner  of  my  flight.'^ 

That  Horatio's  heroism  did  not  consist  in  the  ready  forgivenesi 


48S         THE  FATAL   DOWRY. 

of  injuries,  is  erident  from  the  obstinate  salleniiess  with  wbieli 
he  rejects  the  penitent  apologies  of  Altamont  in  the  farther 
progress  of  the  play-;  I  am  at  a  loss  therefore  to  know  what 
coloar  the  poet  meant  to  gire  his  character,  by  dispoeir^  him  to 
quit  his  country  with  this  insult  unatoned  for,  and  the  additional 
stigma  upon  him  of  running  away  from  his  appointment  with 
Lothario  for  the  next  morning  ^^  amongst  the  rocks."  Had  ho 
meant  to  bring  him  oflfupon  the  repugnance  he  felt  of  resenting 
any  injury  against  the  son  of  a  father,  whose  image  was  so  visi- 
ble ^^  in  his  face,*'  that  his  ^^  heart  ran  o'er  with  fondness  in 
spite  of  his  wrongs,  and  he  could^  rather  die  than  hurt  him;*' 
surely  that  image  would  hate  interceded  no  less  powerfully  for 
him,  when,  penetrated  with  remorse,  he  intercedes  for  pity  and 
forgiveness,  and  even  faints  at  his  feet  with  agony  at  his  unre- 
lenting obduracy :  It  would  be  unfair  to  suppose  he  was  more 
like  his  father  when  he  had  dealt  him  an  insulting  blow,  than 
when  he  was  atoning  for  an  injury  by  the  most  ample  satisfac- 
tion and  submission. 

This  IS  the  light  in  which  the  conduct  of  Horatio  strikes  me ; 
if  I  am  wrong,  I  owe  an  atonement  to  the  manes  of  an  elegant 
poet,  which  upon  conviction  of  my  error,  I  will  study  to  pay  in 
the  fullest  manner  I  am  able. 

•  It  now  remains  only  to  say  a  few  words  upon  the  catastrophe, 
in  which  the  author  varies  from. his  original,  by  making  Calista 
destroy  herself  with  a  dagger,  pui  into  her  hand  for  that  pur- 
pose by  her  father :  If  I  am  to  moralize  upon  this  proceeding  of 
Sciolto,  I  know  full  well  the  incident  cannot  bear  np  against 
it ;  a  Roman  father  would  stand  the  discussion  better  than  a 
Christian  one ;  and  I  also  know  that  the  most  natural  expedient 
is  unluckily  a  most  undramatic  one;  yet  the  poet  did  not 
totally  overlook  it,  for  he  makes  Sciolto's  first  thought  turn 
upon  a  convent,  if  I  rightly  understand  the  following  passage  : 

^'  Hence  from  my  sight  1  thy  father  cannot  bear  thee : 

<^  Fly  with  thy  infamy  to  some  dark  cell, 

^^  Where,  on  the  confines  of  eternal  night, 

^^  Mourning,  misfortunes,  cares,  and  anguish  dwell; 

^^  Where  ugly  shame  hides  her  opprobrious  heady 

^^  And  death  and  hell  detested  rule  maintain  ; 

**  There  howl  out  the  remainder  of  thy  life, 

^^  And  wish  thy  name  may  be  no  more  remember'd." 

Whilst  I  am  transcribing  these  lines  a  doubt  strikes  me  that  I 
have  misinterpreted  them,  and  yet  Calista's  answer  seems  to 
point  to  the  meaning  I  had  suggested ;  perhaps  however  thej 
are  mere  ravings  in  fine  numbers  without  any  determinate  idea: 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.         488 

whaterer  ih^j  may  be,  it  is  clear  they  do  not  go  to  the  length 
of  death :  he  tells  Altamont,  as  soon  as  she  is  departed : 

**  I  wo'  not  kill  her  ; 

*^  Yet  by  the  ruin  she  has  brought  upon  us, 
^^  The  common  infamy  that  brands  us  both, 
"  She  sha'  not  'scape." 

He  seems  in  this  moHient  to  have  formed  the  resolution,  which 
he  afterwards  puts  upon  execution ;  he  prompts  her  to  self- 
murder,  and  arms  her  for  the  act :  this  may  save  the  spectators 
a  sight  too  shocking  to  behold,  but  does  it  convey  less  horror 
to  the  heart,  than  if  he  had  put  her  to  death  with  his  own  hand  ? 
a  father  killing  his  child  for  incontinence  with  the  man  M'hom 
he  had  not  permitted  to  marry  her,  when  he  solicited  his  con- 
sent, is  an  act  too  monstrous  to  reflect  upon :  is  that  father  less 
a  monster,  who,  deliberately  and  after  full  reflection,  puts  a 
dagger  into  her  hand  and  bids  her  commit  self-murder  ?  I  should 
humbly  conceive  the  latter  act  a  degree  in  guilt  beyond  the 
former;  especially  when  I  hear  that  father  coolly  demanding 
of  his  victim,  if  she  has  reflected  upon  what  may  happen  after 
death : 

"  Hast  thou  consider'd  what  may  happen  after  it  ? 
*^  How  thy  account  may  stand,  and  what  to  answer  ?" 

A  parent  surely  would  turn  that  question  upon  his  own  hearty 
before  he  precipated  his  unprepared  child  to  so  awful  and  un« 
certain  an  account :  rage  and  instant  revenge  may  find  some 
plea ;  sudden  passion  may  transport  even  a  father  to  lift  his 
hand  against  his  own  offispring ;  but  this  act  of  Sciolto  has  no 
shelter  but  in  heathen  authority  : 

<^  'Tis  justly  thought,  and  worthy  of  that  spirit, 
^^  That  dwelt  in  ancient  Latian  breasts,  when  Rome 
**  Was  mistress  of  the  world." 

Did  ever  poetry  beguile  a  man  into  such  an  allusion  ?  and  to 
what  does  that  piece  of  information  tend  '*  that  Rome  Wa«  mis- 
tress of  the  world  ?"  If  this  is  human  nature,  it  would  almost 
tempt  one  to  reply  in  Sciolto's  own  words : 

^^  I  eould  curse  nature." 

But  it  is  no  more  like  nature,  than  the  following  sentiments  of 
Calista  are  like  the  sentiments  of  a  penitent,  or  a  Christian  : 

^^  That  I  must  die  it  is  my  only  comfort. 

^'  Death  is  the  privilege  of  human  nature, 

*'  And  life  without  it  were  not  worth  our  taking^—" 

And  again, 

^*  Yet  heav'n  who  knows  our  weak  imperfect  natures^ 


484         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

**  How  blind  with  pauions,  and  how  prone  to  evil, 

**  Makes  not  too  strict  enquiry  for  offences, 

"  But  is  aton'd  by  penitence  an^  prayer. 

5'  Cheap  recompense !  here  'twould  not  be  received ; 

**  Nothing  but  blood  can  make  the  expiation/' 

Such  is  the  catastrophe  of  Rowe'is  Fair  Penitent j  such  is  the  re- 

gresentation  he  gives  us  of  human  nature,  and  such  the.moral  of 
is  tragedy. 
I  shall  conclude  with  an  extractor  two  from  the  catastrophe  of 
the  Fatal  Dowrjf  :  and  first  for  the  penitence  of  Beaumelle,!  shall 
select  only  the  following  speech  addressed  to  her  husband  : 
<j  I  I  dare  not  move  you 

*'  To  hear  me  speak.     I  know  my  fault  Is  far 
*'  Beyond  qualification  or  excuse ; 
**  That  'tis  not  fit  for  me  to  hope,  or  you 
•*  To  think  of  mercy  ;  only  I  presume 
**  To  entreat  you  would  be  pleased  to  look  upon 
**  My  sorrow  for  it,  and  believe  these  tears 
**  Are  the  true  children  of  my  grief,  and  not 
**  A  woman's  cunning/' 

I  need  not  point  out  the  contrast  between  this  and  the  quotations 
from  Calista.  It  will  require  a  longer  extract  to  bring  the  conduct 
of  Rochfort  into  comparison  with  that  of  Sciolto :  the  reader  will 
observe  that  Novall's  dead  body  is  now  on  the  scene.  Charalois, 
Beaunselle,  and  Rochfort  her  father,  are  present.  The  charge  of 
adultery  is  urged  by  Charalois,  and  appeal  is  made  to  the  justice 
•f  Rochfort  in  the  case : 

*^  Roch*  What  answer  makes  the  prisoner  ? 

'*  Beaumel.  I  confess 
**  The  fact  I  am  4:harged  with,  and  yield  myself 
^^  Most  miserably  guilty. 

**  Koch.  Heaven  take  mercy 
*'  Upon  your  soul,  then  !  it  must  leave  your  body.-— ^ 
^  *-Since  that  the  politic  law  provides  that  servantsi 
'^  To  whose  care  we  commit  our  goods,  shall  die 
*^  If  they  abuse  our  trust,  what  can  you  look  for, 
**  To  whose  charge  this  roost  hopeful  lord  gave  op 
*'  All  he  received  from  his  brave  ancestorsi 
''  Or  he  could  leave  to  his  posterity, 
'*  His  honour,  wicked  woman!  in  whose  safety 
**  All  his  life's  joys  and  comforts  were  lock'd  up, 
'<  Which  thy  -  -  -  lust,  a  thief,  hath  now  stolen  from  him ; 
**  And  therefore 

''  CharaL  Stay,  just  judge; — may  not  what's  lott    ^ 
^  By  her  one  fault  ^for  I  am  charitablei 


'  THE  FATAL   DOWRY.         485 

*'  And  charge  her  not  with  many)  be  forgotten 
f*  In  her  fair  life  hereafter  ? 

"  Roch,  Never,  sir. 
*^  The  virrong  that's  done  to  the  chaste  married  bed 
**  Repentant  tears  can  never  expiate ; 
"  And  be.assured,  to  pardon  such  a  sin 
^^  Is  an  offence  as  great  as  to  commit  it/' 

In  consequence  of  this  the  husband  strikes  her  dead  before  her 
father's  eyes ;  the  act  indeed  is  horrid ;  even  Tragedy  shrinks 
from  it,  i^nd  nature  with  a  father's  voice  instantly  cries  out.-—*'  Is 
she  dead  then  ? — and  you  have  kill'd  her  ?" — Cbaralois  avows  it, 
and  pleads  his  sentence  for  the  deed ;  the  revolting  agonized 
parent  breaks  forth  into  one  of  the  most  pathetic,  natural,  and 
expressive  lamentations,  that  the  English  drama  can  produce : 

**  ■  But  I  pronounced  it 

•*  As  a  judge  only,  and  a  friend  to  justice ; 

"  And,  zealous  in  defence  of  your  wrong'd  honour, 

^*  Broke  all  the  ties  of  nature,  and  cast  off 

"  The  love  and  soft  affection  of  a  father. 

*'  I,  in  your  cause,  put  on  a  scarlet  robe 

"  Of  red-died  cruelty;  but,  in  return, 

"  You  have  advanced  for  me  no  flag  of  mercy. 

*^  I  look'd  on  you  as  a  wrong'd  husband  ;  but 

**  You  closed  your  eyes  against  me  as  a  father. 

**  O  Beaumelle !  my  daughter ! 

^*  CharaL  This  is  madness. 

^'  Roch,  Keep  from  me ! — Could  not  one  good  thought 
rise  up, 
**  To  tell  you  that  she  was  my  age's  comfort, 
«  Begot  by  a  weak  man,  and  born  a  woman, 
*'  And  pould  not,  therefore,  but  partake  of  frailty  ? 
''  Or  wherefore  did  not  thankfulness  step  forth 
'*  To  urge  my  many  merits,  which  I  may 
**  Object  unto  you,  since  you  prove  ungrateful, 
**  Flint-hearted  Cbaralois  ! — 

"  Chared,  Nature  does  prevail 
**  Above  your  virtue." 

What  conclusions  can  I  draw  from  these  comparative  examples, 
which  every  reader  would  not  anticipate  ?  Is  there  a  man,  who  has 
any  feeling  for  real  nature,  dramatic  character,  moral  sentiment, 
tragic  pathos,  or  nervous  diction,  who  can  hesitate,  even  for  a 
moment,  where  to  bestow  the  palm  ?  Cxtubebland.  Observer, 
Nos.  LXX VII.  LXX VIII.  LXXlX. 

This  fine  Tragedy  has  obtained  more  attention  than  usual  fron^ 
^e  critics ;  yet  less  has  been  said  of  its  direct,  than  its.  relative 

vaL.  Ill*  •  Kk 


486         THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

merits;  and  the  Fatal  Dowry  bas  been cbiefly  studied  for  tbe  sake 
of  a  comparison  with  the  Fair  Penitent.  I  do  not  know  if  some 
injury  has  not  been  done  to  it  by  this  mode  of  treatment.  Under 
the  influence  of  a  double  enquiry,  some  circumstances  have  been 
passed  by  with  little  or  no  notice ;  and  others,  perhaps,  have  been 
unduly  magnified.  The  question  has  been,  not  what  was  writtea 
by  Massinger,  but  what  was  imitated  by  Rowe.  While  both  the 
dramas  have  been  thus  considered  together,  the  scope  of  one  of 
them  has  not  been  exactly  defined :  and  what  was  gained  by  a 
complication  of  design,  was  lost  to  simplicity  of  judgment.  In- 
deed, no  great  benefit  of  either  kind  c4n  be  derived  from  the  brief 
and  desultory  views  of  Mr.  M«  Mason  and  Mr.  Davies :  but  the 
reader  will  receive  both  pleasure  and  instruction  from  the  compa- 
rison of  Mr.  Cumberland. 

Not  to  have  a  strong  and  intimate  feeling  of  the  Fatal  Dowry, 
is  to  be  hardened  against  the  most  affecting  representation  of  vir- 
tue goaded  by  injuries  to  an  unlawful  revenge.  The  story  is 
strongly  and  circumstantially  unfolded,  and  fixes  our  attention 
to  its  progress  by  the  impression,  which  it  generally  wears,  of 
common  life*  The  language  too,  is,  with  some  exceptions,  which 
will  be  presently  noticed,  the  language  of  nature  and  of  business. 
The  characters  are  drawn  with  a  profusion  of  force  and  variety. 
Charalois  is  placed  twice  before  the  seat  of  justice:  and  Mas- 
singer  has  had  the  address  to  preserve  an  extraordinary  interest 
for  him,  whether  he  appears  as  a  suppliant  or  a  criminal.  He 
unites  many  rare  and  apparently  opposite  qualities.  His  severity 
and  reserve  are  happily  reconciled  with  the  tenderness  of  his  filial 
piety,  his  intrepidity  with  his  gentleness  of  temper,  his  inflexible 
firmness  with  his  melting  compassion.  He  is  marked  with  the 
gracefgluess  as  well  as  the  force  of  virtue  :  nor  can  the  rash  act 
of  which  he  is  guilty  compel  the  reader  to  abandon  him,  though 
it  shocks  our  feelings.  His  provocations  secure  our  pity;  his 
dying  acknowledgments  tend  to  restore  our  esteem ;  and»  in  his 
on^n  words,  there  is 


(( 


no  eye,  but  is  ready  with  a  tear 


*^  To  witness  'tis  shed  for  him *^ 

Romont  is  well  contrasted  with  him ;  he  is  marked  with  all  the 
vehemence  of  honesty ;  irritation  is  the  characteristic  attendant 
of  his  fidelity ;  he  loses  his  own  temper  in  the  noble  zeal  of  pre* 
serving  the  innocence  of  others :  and  he  draws  his  sword  upon  his 
best  friend,  that  he  may  compel  him  to  give  more  attention  to  his 
sficurity,  Pontalier  again  is  a  variety  of  Romont,  though  of  an 
inferior  cast.  He  carries  his  friendship  to  crime,  and  murders 
Charalois  to  shew  his  gratitude  to  Novall.  There  is  a  secret  link 
%hicfar  binds  these  characters  together.  They  wish  to  be  virtuous ; 


THE  FATAL  DOWRY.        487 

but,  by  too  much  indulgence  of  passion  concerning  it,  they  fall 
into  imprudence  or  guilt.  On  the  other  hand,  the  iixed  quality 
of  Rochfort  is  the  admiration  of  virtue.  On  this  is  founded  the 
condemnation  of  Beaumelle,  as  well  as  his  generosity  to  Charalois. 
Indeed  at  her  fall  he  melts  into  sudden  tenderness  towards  her ; 
and  nothing  can  be  more  finely  natural  than  his  grief  and  his  re- 
proaches of  the  man  whom  he  loves*  But  After  this  burst  of  feel- 
ing, he  returns  to  his  settled  principle  ;  and  the  rash  but  much 
injured  Charalois  is  still  the  object  of  his  regard. 

Old  Novall  might  be  designed  only  as  any  enemy  to  the  cause 
of  Charalois,  and  as  a  contrast  to  Rochfort.  But  the  reprobation 
of  him  is  so  frequently  indulged,  and  with  such  vehemence  and 
accumulation  of  circumstances,  as  to  raise  a  suspicion  that  a  por- 
trait was  intended.  His  hard  and  insulting  disposition,  his  savage 
abuse,  and  his  readiness  to  '*  cross  every  deserving  soldier  and 
scholar/'  seem  to  allude  to  Sir  Edward  Coke^  and  to  the  base 
and  unfeeling  treatment  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  But  it  is  impos* 
sible  to  notice  all  the  observable  parts  of  this  admirable  Tragedy. 
I  will  proceed  to  the  moral,  after  the  discussion  of  a  point  or  two 
with  Mr.  M.  Mason.  In  a  very  summary  manner  he  has  pro« 
nounced  that  the  second,  third,  and  part  of  the  fourth  act,  were 
not  written  by  Massingen 

There  is  au  apparent  diange  of  writing  in  the  second  act ;  and 
Ch^alois  himself,  thougn  some  of  his  thoughts  and  expres^ons 
are  excellent,  spoils  his  grief  with  too  much  fondness  for  antitheses, 
and  metaphors  coldly  and  formally  drawn  out.  He  becomes  a 
quibbler  too  as  he  proceeds,  and  does  not  express,  with  his  usual 
frankness,  either  his  gratitude  or  his  love*  The  business  is  also 
unduly  hurried  on;  (though  Massinger  himself  is  strongly  marked 
with  this  precipitation,)  and  the  music  which  lately  played  at  the 
funeral  of  the  marshal,  is  loo  quickly  called  upon  to  celebrate  the 
marriage  of  Charalois.  But  in  the  third  act  Massinger  seems' to 
me  to  return.  The  proof  of  this  shall  not  rest  upon  the  general 
.  style  of  it,  for  that  would  not  so  effectually  determine  the  question, 
but  upon  the  similarity  of  thoughts  and .  expressions  scaUered 
throughout  his  other  plays.  In  the  very  first  scene,  Bellapert  uses 
a  significant  image  which  Antoninus  has  employed  in  the  Virgin 
Martyr,  Romont  afterwards  observes,  that  it  is  as  easy  to 
'*  prop  a  failing  tower,''  as  to  *^  stay  a  woman"  who  has  once 
given  herself  to  viciousness:  and  this  thought,  with  the  very  ex* 
pression  of  it,  has  been  used  by  Mathias  in  the  Picture,  Cha- 
ralois infers  that  the  lion  is  not  to  be  insulted  because  he\does 
not  happen  to  be  angry :  and  Theodosius  has  lately  dwelt  with 
some  enlargement  on  this  very  instance.  Romont  hopes  that  his 
discovery  of  Beaumelle's  infidelity  will  not  **  meet  with  an  ill 

♦KkiJ 


488        THE  FATAL  DOWRY. 

construction/'  and  uses  perhaps  the  niost  common  phrase  of  Mas-, 
tinger;    He  remarks  too  that  women  have  *^  no  cunning  to  gull 
the  world;*' — a  method  of  affirmation  frequent  with  Massinger. 
Shall  I  add  more  proof?  Rochfort  says  to  Beaumelle,  '*  I  have 
%hat  confidence  in  your  goodness,  I" — a  redaplication  which  can- 
not he  missed  by  any  reader  of  these  plays.     Yet  the  language  of 
Rochfort  himself  is  adduced  by  Mr.  M.  Mason,  to  prove  that  this 
act  was  not  written  by  Massinger.    Rochfort  utters  scarcely  more 
than  twenty  lines  ia  the  whole  act ;  and  from  that  small  portion 
the  above  is  one  instance  to  the  contrary  of  the  assertion.     It 
would  be  superfluous  to  say  more,  though  similar  incidents  might 
also  be  produced.     I  shall  only  draw  the  proper  conclusion :  if 
this  Play  was  written  at  the  early  time  supposed  by  Mr.  Malone, 
Massinger  must  either  have  made  it  a  storehouse  from  which  to, 
draw  incidents  and  images  for  his  future  plays,  a  supposition  not 
very  probable,  or  he  must  have  consented  to  adopt  for  ever  the 
thoughts  of  Field  in  preference  to  his  own :  a  supposition  still  lesf 
probable.     Again,— if  it  was  written  in  the  order  in  which  it  is 
now  printed,  Field  would  hardly  have  been  allowed  to  plunder 
him  of  his  most  familiar  thoughts  by  way  of  assisting  him.     In 
either  case  the  third  act  must  be  given  to  Massinger.     Field  is 
welcome  to  the  first  scen^  of  the  fourth  act,  if  that  is  the  part 
claimed  for  him  by  Mr.  M.  Mason. 

I  pass,  with  pleasure,  from  this  uninteresting  enquiry  to  a  great 
moral,  which,  after  all  the  discussion  bestowed  upon  this  Play,  is 
as  yet  fresh  and  untouched. 

Charalois  slew  an  offending  wife,  and  the  partner  of  her  crime, 
with  his  own  hand,  and  was  himself  slain.  Vengeance  belongs  to 
Heaven ;  and  by  the  divine  will,  the  administration  of  it  for  moral 
purposes  is  vested  in  the  laws.  To  avenge  our  own  cause  is  to 
despise  the  seat  of  justice,  and  the  order  of  providence;  and  to 
involve  ourselves  in  guilt  and  the  punbhment  of  it.  Virtue  must 
employ  only  virtuous  means  in  the  coercion  of  vice  itself.  Her 
injuries  will  therefore  wait  upon  the  laws ;  for  in  the  very  forms  of 
justice  there  is  virtue. 


Nt:W  WAV  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS 


A  New  Wat  to  Pay  Old  Debts.]  This  *<  Comedy"  doet 
not  appear  in  Sir  Henry  Herbert's  book;  it  mnst,  howerer, 
hare  been  produced  on  the  stage  before  1633,*  in  which  year 
it  was  printed  for  Henry  Seyle.  The  author  of  the  Companiou 
to  the  Playhouse  terms  it  ^^  one  of  the  best  of  the  old  comedies, 
and,  in  his  opinion,  the  rery  best  of  Massinger's  writing;*'  It 
is,  indeed,  a  most  admirable  piece ;  bat  while  the  City  Madam^ 
and  two  or  three  others  of  this  writer's  comedies  remain,  it  will 
not,  I  think,  be  universally  placed  at  the  head  of  the  list. 

This  play  is  preceded  by  two  short  commendatory  poemfly  by 
Sir  Thomas  Jay,  and  Sir  Henry  Moody ;  the  former  of  which 
must  hate  been  peculiarly  gratifying  to  Massinger»  as  Sir  Thomas 
was  no  flatterer. 

The  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts  was  extremely  well  received 
on  its  first  appearance,  and,  as  the  quarto  informs  us,  ^^  often 
acted  at  the  Phoenix  in  Drurie  Lane."  It  has  been  revived  at 
different  periods  with  considerable  success,  and  still  holds  a  dis- 
tinguished place  on  the  stage.  ' 

•  There  aie  several  allasions  to  a  state  of  war  in  it)  and  peace  had  been  made 
with  Fiance  and  Spain  in  1630« 


TO 


The  Right  Honourable, 

ROBERT  EARL  OF  CARNARVON. 

MASTER-FALCONER  OF  ENGLAND. 


.    MY  GOOD  hORD, 

irARDO'Nf  I  beseech  you,  my  boldness,  in  presuming  to 
shelter  this  Comedy  under  the  wings  of  your  lordship's  favour 
and  protection.  J  am  not  ignorant  (having  never  yet  de^ 
served  you  in  my  service)  that  it  cannot  but  meet  with  a  severe 
construction,  if,  in  the  clemency  of  your  noble  disposition,  you 
fashion  not  a  better  drfence  for  me,  than  I  can  fancy  for 
myself  All  I  c^n  allege  is,  that  divers  Italian  princes,  and 
lords  of  eminent  rank  in  England,  have  not  disdained  to  re- 
ceive and  read  poems  if  this  nature;  nor  am  I  wholly  lost  in 
my  hopes,  but  that  your  honour  (who  have  ever  expressed 
yourself  a  favourer,  and  friend  to  the  Muses)  tnay  vouchsafe, 
in  your  gracious  acceptance  of  this  trifle,  to  give  me  en" 
couragement  to  present  you  zsAth  some  laboured  work,  and  of 
a  higher  strain,  hereafter.  I  was  born  a  devoted  servant  to 
the  thrice,  noble  family  of  your  incomparable  lady,^  and  am 
most  ambitious,  but  with  a  becoming  distance,  to  be  knomm 
to  your  lordship,  which,  if  you  please  to  admit,  1  shall  em^ 
brace  it  as  a  bounty,  that  while  I  live  shall  oblige  me  to  ae* 
knowledge  you  for  my  noble  patron,  and  profess  myself  to  be^ 

your  honour^s  true  servant^ 

PHILIP  MJSSINGER. 

♦  Anna  Sophia,  daughter  of  Philip  Earl  of  Pembroko  and 
Montgomerj,  and  wife  of  Robert  Dormer  Earl  of  CamarTon, 
who  was  slain  at  Newbury,  fighting  for  his  king,  iOth  Septem- 
ber,  1643.    Mai^ome. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONifi. 


r 

Lord  Lovcll. 

Sir  Giles  Overreach,  a  cruel  extortioner^ 

Frank  Wellborn,  a  prodigal. 

Tom  Allworth,  a  young  gentleman^  page  to  lord 

Lovell. 
Greedy,  c  hungry  justice  of  peace. 
Marrall,  a  term' driver ;  a  creature  of  sir  Giles 

Overreach. 
Order,  steward  "1 

Amble,  usher       \     j^   Allworth. 

Furnace,  cook      j  ^ 

Watchall,  porter  j 

Will  do,  a  parson. 

Tap  well,- fl»  alehouse  keeper. 

Creditors,  Servants,  ^c. 

Lady  Allworth,  a  rich  widow. 

Margaret,  Overreach's  daughter^  .  ^ 

Froth,  Tapweirs  wife. 

Chambermaid. 

Waiting  Woman. 

SCENE,  the  country  near  Nottingham. 


NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 


.r         I    ,.fci 


ACT  1.  scEnJ:  t 

Before  Tapweirs  House. 

jEnier  WELLBORy  in  tattered  apparel,  TapwelLi 

and  Froth. 

fVelL  No  bouse  ?  nor  no  tobacco  ? 

Tap.  Not  a  suck,  sir ; 
Nor  the  remainder  of  a  single  can 
Left  by  a  drunken  porter,  all  night  paird  too* 

Froth.  Not  the  dropping  of  the  tap  for  your 
morning^s  draught,  sir : 
'Tis  verity,  I  assure  you. 

TVelL  Verit}%  you  brache!* 
The  devil  turn'd  precisian  !  Rogue,  what  am  I? 

Tap.  Troth,. durst  I  trust  you  with  a  looking- 
glass,  * 
Tolet  yousee  your  trim  shape,  you  would  quit  me, 
And  take  the  name  yourself* 

fVelL  How,  dog ! 

■  Well.  Verity,  you  brache ! 

The  devil  turnd  precisian !]  For  htaeke  ^ee  Vol.  I.  p.  200. 
A  precisian  is  a  paritan ;  a  rerj  general  object  of  dislike  in 
those  times*  In  Terity,  or  verily,  was  one  of  the  affected  affinna* 
tions  of  the  sect:  hence  the  reproachful  eiclamation  of  Weil* 
borm 


494  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Tap.  Even  so,  sir. 
And  I  must  tell  you,  if  you  but  advance 
Your  Plymouth  cloak,    you  shall  be  soon  in* 

structed 
There  dwells,  and  within  call,  if  it  please  your 

worship,^ 
A  potent  monarch,  calPd  the  constable. 
That  does  command  a  citadel  call'd  the  stocks; 
Whose  guards  are  certain  files  of  rusty*  billmen^ 
Such  as  with  great  dexterity  will  hale 
Your  tatter'd,  lousy 

ffell.  Rascal !  slave  I 

Froth.  No  rage,  sir. 

Tap.  At  his  own  peril :  Do  not  put  yourself  - 

*  And  I  mustUUyoUj  if  you  but  advance 

Your  Plymouth  cloak,]  Coxeter,  ignorant  of  the  meaning 
of  this  expression,  boldly  changed  it  to  pile-worn  ctoak  !  and  so 
it  stands  in  his,  and  Mr.  M.  Mason's  precious  editions;  though 
why  Tapwell  should  be  so  irritated  by  the  advancing  of  a  pilc^ 
worn  cloaks  neither  of  the  gentlemen  have  thought  fit  to  explain* 
When  Wellborn  exclaims,  "  How,  dogl"  he  raises  his  cudgel 
to  beat  Tapwell,  who  threatens  him,  in  his  turn,  with  a  con. 
stable,  &c.  if  he  presumes  to  strike  him;  this  is  the  purport  of 
the  passage.  That  a  staff  was  anciently  called  a  Dunkirk,  or  a 
Plymouth  cloaky  may  be  proved  by  many  instances. 

<<  Whose  cloaky  at  Plymouth  spun,  was  crab-tree  wood." 

Davenant,  FoI.  p.  ^29. 

«  Do  you  hear,  frailty  ?  shall  I  walk  in  a  Plymouth  cloak^  that 
b  to  say,  like  a  rogue,  in  my  hose  and  doublet,  and  a  crab-tree 
cudgel  in  my  hand?"     The  Hpnest  Whore. 

Again ;  Sconce.  "  How  fares  it  with  the  knights  of  the  blade  ? 
do  they  walk  a  la  mode  in  Dunkirke  cloaks? 

Mir.  VtVLj^  sir,  what  is  a  D.  cloak  ? 

Pirke.  Not  know  a  D.  upper  garment,  a  leaguer  cloak! 
Behold  my  lo;  this  cane,  this  staff  of  office;  thrive  still  the 

military  caster. 

jdir.  *TwiU  hardly  keep  out  a  shower  of  rain  for  all  that.'* 

The  Hollander.  A.  Ill,  Sc.  1. 

J  Whose  guards  are  certain  files  ofru^ty  bUlmeni]  Cpxeter  and 
Mr.  M.  Mason  have— /««/>  billmen :  the  old  reading  is  surel/^ 
more  hnmoroHS. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS*  495 

In  too  much  heat,  there  being  no  water  near 
To  quench  your  thirst;    and^  sure,  for  other 

liquor, 
As  mighty  ale,  or  beer,  they  are  thiugs,  I  take  it,. 
You  must  no  more  remember;  not  in  a  dream, 
sir. 
JVeli.  Why,  thou  unthankful  villain,  dar'st  thou 
talk  thus ! 
Is  not  thy  house,  and  all  thou  hast,  my  gift  ? 

Tap.  I  find  it  not  in  chalk;  and  Timothy  Tap  well 
Does  keep  no  other  register. 

IVell.  Am  not  I  he 
Whose  riots  fed  and  clothed  thee?  wert  thou  not 
Born  on  my  father's  land,  and  proud  to  be 
A  drudge  in  his  house  ? 

Tap.  What  I  was,  sir,  it  skills  not ; 
What  you  are,  is  apparent :  now,  for  a  farewell, . 
Since  you  talk  of  father,  in  my  hope  it  will  tor* 

ment  you, 
I'll  briefly  tell  your  story.    Your  dead  father. 
My  quondam  master,  was  a  man  of  worship, 
I  Old  sir  John  Wellborn,  justice  of  peace  and 
!  quorum, 

And  stood  fair  to  be  custos  rotulonim ; 
Bore  the  whole  sway  of  the  shire,  kept  a  grea^ 

house, 
Relieved  the  poor,  and  so  forth ;  but  he  dying. 
And  the  twelve  hundred  a  year  coming  to  you. 
Late  master  Francis,  but  now  forlorn  Wellborn—^ 
JFell.  Slave,  stop  !  or  I  shall  lose  myself. 
Froth.  Very  hardly ; 
You  cannot  out*  of  your  way. 
Tap.  But  to  my  story ; 

^  Tou  cannot  cut  of  your  roa^^  The  modern  editors  miflviiii 
derstaDding  this  simple  phrase,  have  been  pleased  to  adapt  it  t^ 
their  own  conceptions ;  thej  read, 

Fcm  tam/iwt  be  out  of^ymtr  my  / 


496  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS* 

You  were  then  a  lord  of  acres,  the  prime  gallant^ 

And  I  your  under  butler ;  note  the  change  now  2 

Vou  had  a  merry  time  oft ;  hawks  and  hounds. 

With  choice  of  running  horses:  mistresses 

Of  all  sorts  and  alt  sizes,  yet  so  hot, 

As  their  embraces  made  your  lordships  melt ; 

Which  your  uncle,  Sir  G  iles  Overreach,  observingi 

(Resolving  not  to  lose  a  drop  of  them,) 

On  foolish  mortgages,  statutes,  and  bonds, 

For  a  while  supplied  your  looseness,  and  then  left 

you. 
irelL  Some  curate  hath  penn'd  this  invective, 

mongrel, 
And  you  have  studied  it. 

Tap.  I  have  not  done  yet : 
Your  land  gone,  and  your  credit  not  worth  a 

token,* 
You  grew  the  common  borrower ;  no  man  scaped 
Your  paper-pellets,  from  the  gentleman 
To   the  beggars  on   highways,   that  sold  you 

switches 
In  your  gallantry. 

frelL  I  shall  switch  your  brains  out. 

Tap.  Where*  poor  Tim  Tapwell,  with  a  little 

stock, 
Some  forty  pounds  or  so,  bought  a  stnall  cottage; 

^  Your  land  gone^  and  your  credit  Hot  worth  a  token,]  **  During 
the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  from  thenceforward  to  that 
of  Charles  the  Second,  rery  little  brass  or  cdpper  money  was 
coined  by  authority.  For  the  conrenience  of  the  public,  there- 
fore, tradesnSen  were  permitted  to  coin  small  moiley,  or  tokens^ 
as  they  were  called,  which  were  used  for  change.''  Old  Flayt^ 
Vol.  111.  p.  267.  1  hese  little  pieces  are  mentioned  J»y  most  of 
our  old  writers;  their  value  is  liot  ascertained,  but  seems  to 
hafe  been  about  a  farthing. 

'  *  Whejre  poor  Tim  Tapwell^  &c.]  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason 
read,  When  poor  Tim  Tapwelly  &c.  but  jthe  quarto  is  right.  Where 
Stands  for  whereas^  as  it  frequently  does  in  ourancient  writers. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  497 

Humbled  myself  to  marriage  with  my  Froth  here, 

Gave  entertainment r- 

fFell.  Yes,  to  whores  and  canters,' 
Clubbers  by  night. 

Tap.  True,  but  they  brought  in  profit, 
And  had  a  gift  to  pay  for  what  thev  called  for ; 
And  stuck  not  like  your  mastership.    The  poor 

income 
I  glean'd  from  them  hath  made  me  in  my  parish 
Thought  worthy  to  be  scavenger,  and  in  time       , 
May  rise  to  be  overseer  of  the  poor; 
Which  if  I. do,  on  your  petition.  Wellborn, 
I  may  allow  you  thirteen-^pence  a  quarter. 
And  you  shall  thank  my  worship. 
fFell.  Thus,  you  dog-bolt, 

And  thus [Beats  and  kicks  him. 

Tap.  [to  his  wife.']  Cry  out  for  help  ! 
Well.  Stir,  and  thou  diest : 
Your  potent  prince,  the  constable,  shall  not  save  ' 

you. 
Pear  me,  ungrateful  hell-hound  !  did  not  I 
Make  purses  for  you?  then  you  lick'd  my  boots, 
And  thought  your  holiday  cloak  too  coarse  to 

clean  them. 
Twas  I  that,  when  I  heard  thee  swear  if  ever 
Thou  couldst  arrive  at  forty  pounds,  thou  wouldst 
Live  like  an  emperor,  'twas  I  that  gave  it  ' 

In  ready  gold.     Deny  this,  wretch  ! 

Tap.  I  must,  sir; 
For,  from  the  tavern  to  the  taphouse,  all. 
On  forfeiture  of  their  licenses,  stand  bound 
Ne'er  to  remember  who  their  best  guests  were, 
If  they  grew  poor  like  you. 
WelL  They  are  well  rewarded 

7  '     .  .'    . cantenyl  \.  e.  Rogues,  eturdy  beg- 

gars, kc. 


^  498  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

That  bepgar  theoiselves  to  make  such  cuckolds 

rich. 
Thou  viper^  thankless  viper!  impudent  bawd! — 
But  since  you  ate  grown  forgetful,  I  will  help 
Your  memory,  and  tread  you  into  mortar ; 
Not  leave  one  bone  unbroken*  [Beats  him  again. 

Tap.  Oh ! 

Froth.  Ask  mercy. 

Enter  Allworth. 

fFell.  Twill  not  be  granted. 
All.  Hold,  for  my  sake  hold. 
Deny  me,  Frank  !  they  are  not  worth  your  anger. 
frell.  For  once  thou  hast  redeem'd  them  from 
this  sceptre  ;* 
But  let  them  vanish,  creeping  on  their  knees, 
And,  if  they  grumble,  I  revoke  my  pardon. 
Froth.  This  comes  of  your  prating,  husband ; 
you  presumed 
On  your  ambling  wit,  and  must  use  your  glib 

tongue. 
Though  you  are  beaten  lame  for 't. 
Tap.  Patience,  Froth ; 
»/  There's  law  to  cure  our  bruises. 

[They  crawl  off  on  their  hands  and  knees. 
fVelL  Sent  to  your  mother  ? ' 
All.  My  lady,  Frank,  my  patroness,  my  all ! 
She's  such  a  mourner  for  my  father's  death, 

•  Well.  JFbr  once  thou  hast  redtem*d  them  from  this  sceptre  ;] 
The  old  copy  has  a  marginal  explanation  here ;  it  says,  ^^  his 
cudgel^"  i.  e.  the  Plymouth  cloak  mentioned  in  a  former  page. 

9  Well.  Sent  to  your  mother  f]  If  Cozeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason 
had  but  patience  to  ha?e  read  ^  little  further,  they  would  haVe 
seen  that  Allworth  was  dispatched  on  his  present  errand  by  Lord 
LoTell ;  and  might  then  ha?e  suffered  the  text  to  stand  as  Mas- 
finger  l^t  it.    They  inaccurately  read  : 

WelL  Sent  for  to  your  mother  I 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  499 

And,  in  her  love  to  him,  so  favours  me, 

That  I  cannot  pay  too  much  observance  to  her: 

There  are  few  such  stepdames. 

TVelL  Tis  a  noble  widow, 
And  keeps  her  reputation  pure,  and  clear  ; 

From  the  least  taint  of  infamy ;  her  life,  I 

With  the  splendour  of  her  actions^  leaves  no  ; 
tongue  \ 

To  envy  or  detraction.    Prithee  tell  me, 
Has  she  no  suitors  ? 

AIL  Even  the  best  of  the  shire,  Frank, 
My  lord,  excepted  ;  such  as  sue,  and  send,    • 
And  send,  and  sue  again,  but  to  no  purpose ; 
Their  frequent  visits  have  notgain'd  her  presence. 
Yet  she*s  so  far  from  suUenness  and  pride, 
That  I  dare  undertake  you  shall  meet  from  her 
A  liberal  entertainment:  I  can  give  you 
A  catalogue  of  her  suitor's  names. 

fVell.  Forbear  it. 
While  I  give  you  good  counsel :  I  am  bound  to  it. 
Thy  father  was  my  friend ;  and  that  affection 
I  bore  to  him,  in  right  descends  to  thee ; 
Thou  art  a  handsome  and  a  hopeful  youth, 
Nor  will  I  have  the  least  affront  stick  on  thee, 
If  I  with  any  danger  can  prevent  it. 

All.  I  thank  your  noble  care;  but,  pray  you^ 
in  what 
Do  I  run  the  hazard  ? 

fVelL  Art  thou  not  in  love  ?' 
Put  it  not  off  with  wonder. 

AIL  In  love,  at  my  years  ! 

JVelL  You  think  you  walk  in  clouds,  but  arc 
transparent.* 

'  You  think  you  walk  in  clouds,  but  are  transparent.]  The  old 
reading  was, 

You  think  you  walk  in  clouds,  but  are  transient, 


500  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

I  hs^ve  heard  all,  and  the  choice  that  you  have 

made ; 
And,  with  my  finger,  can  point  out  the  north  star 
By  which  the  loadstone  of  your  folly's  guided ; 
And,  to  confirm  this  true,  what  think  you  of 
Fair  Margaret,  the  only  child  and  heir 
Of  Cormorant  Overreach?   Does  it*  blush  and 

start. 
To  hear  her  only  named  ?  blush  at  your  want 
Of  wit,  and  reason. 

All.  You  are  too  bitter,  sir. 

Well.  Wounds  of  this  nature  are  not  to  be 

cured 
With  balms,  but  corrosives.     I  must  be  plain : 
Art  thou  scarce  manumised  from  the  porter^a 

lodge,' 
And  yet  sworn  servant  to  the  pantofle, 
And  dar'st  thou  dream  of  marriage  ?  I  fear 
*Twill  be  concluded  for  impossible. 
That  there  is  now,  or  e'er  shall  be  hereafter, 
A  handsome  page,  or  player's  boy  of  fourteen. 
But  either  loves  a  wench,  or  drabs  love  him ; 
Court-waiters  not  exempted. 

AIL  This  is  madness. 
Howe'er  you  have  discover'd  my  intents, 
You  know  my  aims  are  lawful ;  and  if  ever 

which  was  certainly  an  error  of  the  press.  Coxeter  and  IVt. 
Masok. 

So  say  the  former  editors :  the  truth,  however,  is,  that  the 
old  reading  is  trans-rent^  and  the  omission  of  pa  was  solely  oc« 
casioned  by  a  break  in  the  line.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  Mr.  M. 
Mason  Touch  for  the  reading  of  a  copy  into  which  he  never 
condescended  to  look,  and  of  the  existence  of  which  it  is  for  hia 
credit  to  suppose  him  altogether  ignorant. 

*  Does  it  blush  and  start ^']  So  the  quarto  ;  the  modern  editors 
poorly  read — Dost  blusky  &c. 

^  Art  thou  scarce  manumised  from  the  porter's  lodge,']  The 
first  degree  of  serTitude,  as  1  have  already  observed  i  see  Vol.  I. 
p.  294. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  501 

The  queen  of  flowers,  the  glory  of  the  spring, 
The  sweetest  comfort  to  our  smell,  the  rose, 
Sprang  from  an  envious  briar,  I  may  infer 
There's  such  disparity  in  their  conditions, 
Between  the  goodness  of  my  soul,  the  daughter. 
And  the  base  churl  her  father. 

TFelL  Grant  this  true, 
As  I  believe  it,  canst  thou  ever  hope 
To  enjoy  a  quiet  bed  with  her,  whose  father 
^'  Ruin'd  thy  state  ? 
/      All.  And  your's  too. 

fVelL  I  confess  it.* 
True ;  I  must  tell  you  as  a  friend,  and  freely, 
That,  where  impossibilities  are  apparent, 
Tis  indiscretion  to  nourish  hopes. 
Canst  thou  imagine  (let  not  self-love  blind  thee) 
That  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  that,  to  make  her  great 
In  swelling  titles,  without  touch  of  conscience, 
Will  cut  his  neighbour's  throat,  and  I  hope  his 

own  too. 
Will  e'er  consent  to  malce  her  thine?  Give  o'er, 
And  think  of  some  course  suitable  to  thy  rank, 
And  prosper  in  it 

All.  You  have  well  advised  me. 
But,  in  the  mean  time,  you,  that  are  so  studious 
Of  my  affairs,  wholly  neglect  your  own  : 
Remember  yourself,  and  in  what  plight  you  are. 

IVell.  No  matter,  no  matter. 

All.  Yes,  'tis  much  material : 
You  know  my  fortune,  and  my  means;  yet  some- 
thing 
^    I  can  spare  from  myself,  to  help  your  wants. 

♦  Well.  I  confess  it. 

True ;  I  musty  &c.]  So  tbe  old  copy.     Coxeter  and  Mr.  M^ 
MasoD,  that  they  may  spoil  the  metre  of  two  lines,  read, 

Well,  I  confess  it  true* 
I  mustp  &c. 

VOL.  III.  *  L  1 


502  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

fFell.  How's  this  ? 

AIL  Nay,  be  not  angry ;  there's  eight  pieces. 
To  put  you  in  better  fashion. 

frelL  Money  from  thee  ! 
From  a  boy  !  a  stipendiary  !  one  that  lives 
At  the  devotion  of  a  stepmother, 
And  the  uncertain  favour  of  a  lord  ! 
I'll  eat  my  arms  first.    Howsoe'er  blind  Fortune 
Hath  spent  the  utmost  of  her  malice  on  me; 
Though  I  am  vomited  out  of  an  alehouse, 
And  thus  accoutred  ;  kno\/not  where  to  eat. 
Or  drink,  or  sleep,  but  underneath  this  canopy ; 
Although  I  thank  thee,  I  despise  thy  otfer: 
And  as  I,  in  my  madness,  broke  my  state, 
Without  the  assistance  of  another's  brain. 
In  my  right  wits  I'll  piece  it ;  at  the  worst. 
Die  thus,  and  be  forgotten. 

AIL  A  strange  humour  ! .  {Eseunt. 


SCENE  II. 

A  Room  in  Lady  All  worth's  House. 

iBn^erORDER,  Amble,  Furnace,  flj;M?WATCHALL. 

Ord.  Set  all  things  right,  or,  as  my  name  u 
Order, 
And  bv  this  staff  of  office,  that  commands  you. 
This  chain  and  double  ruff-  symbols  of  power, 
Whoever  misses  in  his  function, 
For  one  whole  week  makes  forfeiture  of  his 

breakfast, 
And  privilege  in  the  wine-cellar. 

Amb.  You  are  merry, 
Good  master  steward. 

Furn.  Let  him ;  I'll  be  angry. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  503 

Amb.  Why,  fellow  Furnace,  *tis  not  twelve 
o'clock  yet. 
Nor  dinner  taking  up ;  then,  '^tis  allow'd. 
Cooks,  by  their  places,  may  be  choleric. 

Furn.  You  think  you  have  spoke  wisely,  good- 
man  Amble, 
My  lady's  go-before ! 

O'rfl  Nay,  nay,  no  wrangling. 

Furn.  Twit  me   with   the  authority  of  the 
kitchen ! 
At  all  hours,  and  all  places,  I'll  be  angry ; 
And  thus  provoked,  when  I  am  at  my  prayers 
I  will  be  angry. 

Amb.  There  was  no  hurt  meant. 

Furn.  I  am  friends  with  thee ;  and  yet  I  will 
be  angry. 

Ord.  With  whom? 

Furn.  No  matter  whom :  yet,  now  I  think  on  it, 
I  am  angry  with  my  lady. 

IFatch.  Heaven  forbia,  man  ! 

Ord.  What  cause  has  she  given  thee  ? 

Furn.  Cause  enough,  master  steward. 
I  was  entertained  by  her  to  please  her  palate, 
And,  till  she  forswore  eating,  I  performed  it. 
Now,  since  our  master,  noble  All  worth,  died. 
Though  I  crack  my  brains  to  find  out  tempting 

sauces, 
And  raise  fortifications*  in  the  pastry. 
Such  as  might  serve  for  models  in  the  Low 
Countries  j 


And  raise  fortifications  in  the  pastry- 


Which  if  they  had  been  practised  at  Breda, 

Spinola,  &c.]  This  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  sieges  •£ 
the  time,  and  is  frequently  mentioned  by  our  old  dramatists. 
Spinola  sat  down  before  Breda  on  the  36th  of  Augast,  1634) 
and  the  town  did  not  surrender  until  the  Ist  of  July  in  the  fol- 
lowing year.      The  besieged  suffered  incredible  hardshipi: 

♦Lis 


504  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS; 

Which,  if  they  had  been  practised  at  \Preda, 
Spinola  might  have  thrown  his  cap  at  it,  and  ne'er 
took  it 
Amb,  But  you  had  wanted  matter  there  to  work 

on. 
Furn.  Matter !  with  six  eggs,  and  a  strike  of 
rye  meal, 
I  had  kept  the  town  till  doomsday,  perhaps  longer. 
Ord.  But  what's  this  to  your  pet  against  my 

lady  ? 
Furn.  What's  this  ?  marry  this ;  when  I  am 
three  parts  roasted, 
.  And  the  fourth  part  parboi  Id,  to  prepare  her  viands. 
She  keeps  her  chamber,  dines  with  a  panada^ 
Or  water-gruel,  my  sweat  never  thought  on. 
Ord.  But  your  art  is  seen  in  the  dining-room. 
Furn.  By  whom? 
/  By  such  as  pretend  love  to  her ;  but  come 
To  feed  upon  her.    Yet,  of  all  the  harpies 
That  do  devour  her,  I  am  out  of  charity 
With  none  so  much  as  the  thin-gutted  squire. 
That's  stolen  into  commission. 
y.      Ord.  Justice  Greedy? 

Furn.  The  same,  the  same :  meat's  cast  away 
upon  him, 

^^butter,''  says  the  historian,  Herman  Hugo,  ^^was  sold  for  six 
florins  a  pound ;  a  calf  of  17  days  old,  for  forty-eight;  a  bog, 
for  one  hundred  and  fifteen;  and  tobacco,  for  one  hundred 
florins  the  lb.  i*'  this  was  after  they  had  consumed  most  of  the 
horses.  A  few  days  after,  the  narrator  adds,  that  ^^  as  much 
tobacco  as  in  other  places  might  have  been  had  for  ten  florins, 
was  sold  in  Breda  for  twelve  hundred!"  It  appears  that  this 
tobacco  was  used  as  ^^  physic,  it  being  the  only  remedy  they 
had  against  the  scurvy." 

The  raising  of  fortifications  in  pastry  seems  to  have  been  a 
fashionable  practice,  since  I  scarcely  recollect  the  details  qf 
liny  great  entertainment  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and  James, 
where  the  fortifications  of  the  Cook  or  the  confectioner  are  not 
duly  commemorated. 


A  NEW  WAt»  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  505 

It  neyer  thrives  ;  he  holds  this  paradox, 
Who  eats  not  well,  can  ne'er  do  justice  well : 
His  stomach's  as  insatiate  as  the  grave, 
Or  strumpets'  ravenous  appetites. 

[Knocking  within. 

Watch.  One  knocks.  [Ejcit^ 

Ord*.  Our  late  young  master! 

Re-mter  Watchall  with  ALLwoETHi 

jimb.  Welcome,  sir. 

Furn.  Your  hand ; 
If  you  have  a  stomach,  a  cold  bake-meat's  ready. 

Ord.  His  father's  picture  in  little. 

Furn.  We  are  all  your  servants. 

Amb.  In  you  he  lives, 

AIL  At  once,  my  thanks  to  all; 
This  is  yet  some  comfort.    Is  my  lady  stirring  ? 

Enter  Lady  Allworth,  Waiting  Woman^  and 

Chambermaid. 

Ord.  Her  presence  answers  for  us. 

i.  AIL  Sort  those  silks  well, 
I'll  take  the  air  alone. 

[Exeunt  Waiting  Woman  and  Chambermaid. 

Furn.  You  air  and  air ; 
But  will  you  never  taste  but  spoon-meat  more  ? 
To  what  use  serve  I  ? 

Z.  AIL  Prithee,  be  not  angry ; 
I  shall  ere  long ;  i'  the  mean  time,  there  is  gold 
To  buy  thee  aprons,  and  a  summer  suit. 

Furn.  I  am  appeased,  and  Furnace  now  grows 
cool.^ 

L.  AIL  And,  as  I  gave  directions,  if  this  morning 

^  J  am  appeased^  and  Furnace  now  grows  coo].]     Old  copy 
Cooke;   altered  hy  Coxeter.     And  yet  we  may  be  wrong: 


506  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS, 

I  am  visited  by  any»  entertain  them 
As  heretofore ;  but  say,  in  my  excuse, 
I  am  indisposed. 

Ord.  I  shall,  madam. 

L.  All.  Do,  and  leave  me. 
Nay,  stay  you,  Allworth. 

[Exeunt  Order^  Amble,  Furnace^  and  tVatchalL 

AIL  I  shall  gladly  grow  here. 
To  wait  on  your  commands. 

Z.  All.  So  soon  turn'd  courtier ! 

All.  Style  not  that  courtship,  madam,  which  is 
duty 
Purchased  on  your  part. 

L.  AIL  Well,  you  shall  overcome ; 
I'll  not  contend  in  words.    How  is  it  with 
Your  noble  master  ? 

All.  Ever  like  himself; 
No  scruple  lessen'd  in  the  full  weight  of  honour : 
He  did  command  me,  pardon  my  presumption, 
As  his  unworthy  deputy,  to  kiss 
Your  ladyship's  fair  hands. 

L.  AIL  I  am  honour'd  in 
His  favour  to  me.    Does  he  hold  his  purpose 
For  the  Low  Cauntries? 

AIL  Constantly,  good  madam; 
But  he  will  in  person  first  present  his  service. 

L.  AIL  And  how  approve  you  of  his  course? 
you  are  yet 
Like  virgin  parchment,  capable  of  any 
Inscription,  vicious  or  honourable* 
I  will  not  force  your  will,  but  leave  you  free 
To  your  own  election. 

Furnace  had  just  said.  To  ivhat  use  serfe  I  ?  But  upon  his  Uidy'f 
promise  to  forego  spoon-meat  soon ;  he  might  subjoin :  I  am 
appeased,  and  Furnace  now  grows  cook;  i.  e.  now  returns  ta 
his  occupation.  The  word  is  printed  in  the  quarto  with  a 
capital  letter. 


*. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  SOT 

All.  Any  form,  you  please, 
I  will  put  on ;  but,  might  I  make  my  choice. 
With  humble  emulation  I  would  follow 
The  path  my  lord  marks  to  me* 

Z.  AIL  'Tis  well  answer'd, 
And  I  commend  your  spirit :  you  had  a  father, 
Bless'd  be  his  memory !  that  some  few  hours 
Before  the  will  of  heaven  took  him  from  me. 
Who  did  commend  you,  by  the  dearest  ties 
Of  perfect  love  between  us,  to  my  charge ; 
And,  therefore,  what  I  speakyou  are  bound  to  hear, 
With  such  respect  as  if  he  lived  in  me. 
He  was  my  husband,  and  howe'er  you  are  not 
Son  of  my  womb,  you  may  be  of  my  love, 
Providea  you  deserve  it. 

AIL  I  have  found  you, 
Most  honour'd  madam,  the  best  mother  to  me ; 
And,  with  my  utmost  strengths  of  care  and  ser- 
vice, 
Will  labour  that  you  never  may  repent 
Your  bounties  shower'd  upon  me.  '^ 

L.  AIL  I  much  hope  it. 
These  were  your  father's  words  tr/jTeVr  my  son 
Follow  the  war,  tell  him  it  is  a  school, 
Where  all  the  principles  tending  to  honour 
Are  taught,  if  truly  follow"  d :  but  for  such 
As  repair  thither,  as  a  place  in  which 
They  do  presume  they  may  with  license  practise 
Their  lusts  and  riots,  they  shall  never  merit 
The  noble  name  of  soldiers.    To  dare  boldly 
In  a  fair  cause,  and,  for  their  country's  safety, 
To  run  upon  the  cannon's  mouth  undaunted; 
To  obey  their  leaders ,^  and  shun  mutinies; 
To  bear  "with  patience  the  winter's  cold, 
And  summer's  scorching  heat,  and  not  tofaint^ 
When  plenty  of  provision  f ails,  with  hunger  ; 


508  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS, 

Are  the  essential  parts  make  up  a  soldiery 
Not  swearing y  dice,  or  drinking. 

All.  There's  no  syllable 
You  jspeaky  but  is  to  me  an  oracle, 
Which  but  to  doubt  were  impious. 

Z.  AIL  To  conclude : 
Beware  ill  company,  for  often  men 
Are  like  to  those  with  whom  they  do  converse  ; 
V    And,  from  one  man  I  warn  you,  and  that's  Well- 
born :  -*  * 
Not  'cause  he'>s  poor,  that  rather  claims  your  pity  j 
But  that  he's  in  his  manners  so  debauch'd, 
And  hath  to  vicious  courses  sold  himself. 
'Tis  true  your  father  loved  him,  while  he  was 
•  Worthy  the  loving ;  but  if  he  had  lived 
\  To  have  seen  him  as  he  is,  he  had  cast  him  off, 
'  As  you  must  do. 

AIL  I  shall  obey  in  all  things. 
Z.  AIL  Follow  me  to  my  chamber,  you  shall 
have  gold 
To  furnish  you  like  my  son,  and  still  supplied. 
As  I  hear  from  you. 

AIL  I  am  still  your  creature.  [Ejceunt. 


SCENE   III. 

A  Hall  in  the  same. 

Enter  Overreach,  Greedy,  Order,  Amble, 
Furnace,  Watchall.  awrf  Marrall. 

Greedy.  Not  to  be  seen ! 

Over.  Still  cloister'd  up  !  Her  reason^ 
I  hope,  assures  her,  though  she  make  herself 
Close  prisoner  ever  for  her  husband's  loss, 
'Twill  not  recover  him. 


A  NEW  WAY  TQ  PAY  OLD.  DEBTS.  509^ 

Ord.  Sir,  it  is  her  will, 
Which  we,  that  are  her  servants,  ought  to  serve, 
And  not  dispute :  howe'er,  you  are  nobly  wel- 
come; 
And,  if  you  please  to  stay,  that  you  may  think  so^ 
There  came,  not  six  days  since,  from  Hull,  a  pipe. 
Of  rich  Canary,  which  shall  spend  itself 
For  my  lady's  honour. 

Greedy.  Is  it  of  the  right  race? 

Ord.  Yes,  master  Greedy. 

Amb.  How  his  mouth  runs  o'er  ! 

Furn.  I'll  make  it  run,  and  run.     Save  your 
good  worship ! 

Greedy.  Honest  master  cook,  thy  hand ;  again : 
how  I  love  thee  ! 
Are  the  good  dishes  still  in  being?  speak,  boy. 

Furn.  If  you  have  a  mind  to  feed,  there  is  a 
chine 
Of  beef,  well  season'd. 

Greedy.  Good!    . 

Furn.  A  pheasant,  larded. 

Greedy.  That  I  might  now  give  thanks  for't! 

Furn.  Other  kickshaws. 
Besides,  there  came  last  night,  ft-om  the  forest  of  • 

Sherw6od, 
The  fattest  stag  I  ever  cook'd. 

Greedy.  A  stag,  man  !  , 

Furn.  A  stag,  sir;    part  of  it   prepared  for 
dinner,  • 
And  baked  in  pufF-paste. 

Greedy.  Puff-paste  too  !  Sir  Giles,    . 
A  ponderous  chine  of  beef!  a  pheasant  larded ! 
And  red  deer  too,  sir  Giles,  and  baked  in  puff-. 

paste! 
All  business  set  aside,  let  us  give  thanks  here. 

Furn.  How  the  lean  skeleton's  rapt? 

Over.  You  know  we  cannot. 


510  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Mar.  Your  worships  are  to  sit  on  a  commission, 
Add  if  you  fail  to  come,  you  lose  the  cause. 

Greedy.  Cause  me  no  causes.     I'll  prove't,  for 
such  a  dinner, 
We  may  put  off  a  commission :  you  shall  find  it 
Henrici  decimo  quarto. 

Cher.  Fie,  master  Greedy ! 
Will  you  lose  me  a  thousand  pounds  for  a  dinner? 
No  more,  for  shame  !  we  must  forget  the  belly, 
When  we  think  of  profit. 

Greedy.  Well,  you  shall  o'er-rule  me ; 
I  could  e'en  cry  now. — Do  you  hear,  master  cook, 
Send  biit  a  corner  of  that  immortal  pasty. 
And  I,  in  thankfulness,  will,  by  your  boy. 
Send  you — vl  brace  of  three-pences. 

Furn.  Will  you  be  so  prodigal  ? 

Enter  Wellborn. 

O'oer.  Remember  me  to  your  lady.    Who  have 
we  here? 

Well.  You  know  me.' 

Over.  I  did  once,  but  now  I  will  not ; 
Thou  art  no  blood  of  mine.  Avaunt,  thou  beggar! 
If  ever  thou  presume  to  own  me  more, 
I'll  have  thee  caged,  and  whipped. 

Greedy.  V\\  grant  the  warrant. 
Think  of  pie-corner.  Furnace  ! 

[Ea^eunt  Overreach^  Greedy ^  and  Marrall. 

Watch.  Will  you  out,  sir  ? 
I  wonder  how  you  durst  creep  in. 

Ord.  This  is  rudeness, 
And  saucy  impudence. 

Amb.  Cannot  you  stay 

7  Well.  Y(m  knew  meJ]  For  this  dignified  answer  the  moderm 
editors,  with  equal  elegance  and  harmony,  resid'^Don't  jom 
know  me? 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  511 

To  be  serv'd,  amongyour  fellow8,from  the  basket,^ 
But  you  must  press  into  the  hall  ? 

Furn.  Prithee,  vanish 
Into  some  outhouse,  though  ic^ie  the  pigstie; 
My  scullion  shall  come  to  thee. 

Enter  A  l  t w  o  rth. 

Well.  This  is  rare : 
Oh,  here's  Tom  All  worth.     Tom ! 

All.  We  must  be  strangers ; 
Nor  would  I  have  you  seen  here  for  a  million, 

[Exit. 

Well.  Better  and  better.  He  contemns  me  too ! 

Enter  Waiting  Woman  and  Chambermaid* 

Woman.  Fob,  what  a  smell's  here !  what  thing's 

this? 
Cham..  A  creature 
Made  out  of  the  privy ;  let  us  hence»  for  love'j 

sake, 
Or  I  shall  swoon. 
Woman.  I  begin  to  faint  already. 

[Exeunt  Waiting  Woman  and  Chambermaid. 
Watch.  Will  you  know  your  way  ? 
Amb.  Or  shall  we  teach  it  you, 
By  the  head  and  shoulders  ? 
Well.  No  ;  I  will  not  stir ; 
Do  you  mark,  I  will  not:  let  me  see  the  wretch 

'  ^  To  he  served  among  your  fellows^  from  the  Ifasket,^  i.  c.  from /^ 
the  broken  bread  and  meat  which,  in  gi«at  houses,  was  distrW 
buted  to  the  poor  at  the  porter's  lodge,  or  reserfed  to  be  cap* 
ried  eyerj  night  to  the  prisons,  for  debtors  and  other  necessitous 
persons.  Hence,  perhaps,  the  allasion  of  Amble.  Thus  SbirlfeyS 
^^  I'll  ha?e  70a  clapt  up  again,  where  you  shaU  howl  aU  day  at 
the  gratei  for  a  meal  at  sightyrom  the  basket."   Bird  tM  a  Cag^k^ 


512  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

That  dares  attempt  to  force  me.  Why;,  you  slaves. 
Created  only  to  make  Itfgs,  and  cringe ; 
To  carry  in  a  dish,  and  shift  a  trencher; 
That  have  not  souls  only  to  hope  a  blessing 
Beyond  blackjacks  or  flagons;  you,  that  were  born. 
Only  to  consume  meat  and  drink,  and  batten 
Upon  reversions! — who  advances?  who 
Shews  me  the  way  ? 
Ord.  My  lady  ! 

Enter  Lady  Allworth,  Waiting  Woman,  and 

Chambermaid. 

Cham.  Here's  the  monster. 

fVonian.  Sweet  madam,   keep  your  glove  to 
your  nose. 

Cham.  Or  let  me 
Fetch  some  perfumes  may  be  predominant; 
You  wrong  yourself  else. 

Well.  Madam,  my  designs 
iSear  me  to  you. 

L,  All.  To  me  ! 

Well.  And  though  I  have  met  with 
But  ragged  entertainmentfrom  your  groomshere, 
I  hope  from  you  to  receive  that  noble  usage 
As  may  become  the  true  friend  of  your  husband^ 
And  then  1  shall  forget  these, 

L.  All.  I  am  amazed 
To  see,  and  hear  this  rudeness.  Barest  thou  think^ 
Though  sworn,  that  it  can  ever  find  belief. 
That  I,  who  to  the  best  men  of  this  country 
Denied  my  presence,  since  my  husband's  death, 
Can  fall  so  low,  as  to  change  words  with  thee? 
Thou  son  of  infamy  !  forbear  my  house, 
And  know,  and  keep  the  distance  that's  between 

us; 
Or,  though  it  be  against  my  gentler  temper,, 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  513 

I  shall  take  order  you  no  more  shall  be 

Ari  eyesore  to  me. 

Well.  Scorn  me  not,  good  lad}' ; 
\  But,  as  in  form  you  are  angelical, 
1  Imitate  the  heavenly  natures,  and  vouchsafe 
'At  the  least  awhile  to  hear  me.     You  will  grant 

The  blood  that  runs  in  this  arm  is  as  noble 

As  that  which  fills  your  veins;    those  costly 
jewels, 

And  those  rich  clothes  you  wear,  your  men's 
observance. 

And  women's  flattery,  are  in  you  no  virtues ; 

Nor  these  rags,  with  my  poverty,  in  me  vices. 

You  have  a  fair  fame,  and,  I  know,  deserve  it ; 

Yet,  lady,  I  must  say,  in  nothing  more 

Than  in  the  pious  sorrow  you  have  shewn 

For  your  late  noble  husband. 
Ord.  How  she  starts  ' 
Furn.  And  hardly  can  keep  finger  from  the  eye, 

To  hear  him  named. 

L.  AIL  Have  you  aught  else  to  say  ? 
ij     Well.  That  husband,  madam,  was  once  in  hi$ 

I  fortune 

Almost  as  low  as  I;  want,  debts,  and  quarrels 

Lay  heavy  on  him  :  let  it  not  be  thought 

A  boast  in  me,  though  I  say,  I  relieved  him. 

'Twas  I  that  gave  him'fashion;  mine  the  sword, 

That  did  on  all  occasions  second  his; 

I  brought  him  on  and  off  with  honour,  lady ; 

And  when  in  all  men's  judgments  he  was  sunk, 

And,  in  his  own  hopes,  not  to  be  buoy'd  up,* 

I  stepp'd  unto  him,  took  him  by  the  hand, 

And  set  him  upright. 

Furn.  Are  not  we  base  rogues, 

That  could  forsret  this  ? 


>.» 


-  not  to  be  buoy'd  up,  J     Sd 


Dodslej)  and  perhaps  rightijr :  the  quarto  reads,  bun§^d  up. 


\f 


514  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Well.  I  confess,  you  made  him 
Master  of  your  estate ;  nor  could  your  friends, 
Though  he  brought  no  wealth  with  him,  blame 

you  for  it ; 
For  he  had  a  shape,  and  to  that  shape  a  mind 
Made  up  of  all  parts,  either  great  or  noble; 
So  winning  a  behaviour,  not  to  be 
Resisted,  madam* 

L.  AIL  Tis  most  true,  he  had.   . 

JVclL  For  his  sake,  then,  in  that  I  was  his  friend. 
Do  not  contemn  me. 

L.  AIL  For  what's  past  excuse  me, 
I  will  redeem  it.     Order,  give  the  gentleman 
A  hundred  pounds. 

Well.  No,  madam,  on  no  terms : 
I  will  nor  beg  nor  borrow  sixpence  of  you, 
But  be  supplied  elsewhere,  or  want  thus  ever. 
Only  one  suit  I  make,  which  you  deny  not 
To  strangers ;  and  'tis  this.         [Whispers  to  her. 

L.  All.  Fie !  nothing  else  ? 

Well.  Nothing,  unless  you  please  to  charge 
your  servants. 
To  throw  away  a  little  respect  upon  me. 

L.  AIL  What  you  demand  is  yours. 

WelL  I  thank  you,  lady. 
Now  what  can  be  wrought  out  of  such  a  rait 
Is  yet  in  supposition :  \A^dei\ — I  have  said  all; 
When  you  please,  you  may  retire.  {Esnt  Lady 
Allwarth.] — Nay,  all's  forgotten ; 

iTo  the  Servants. 
And,  for  a  lucky  omen  to  my  project. 
Shake  hands,  and  end  all  quarrels  in  the  cellar. 

Ord:  Agreed,  agreed. 

Furn.  Still  merry  master  Wellborn.    [Eseunt. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  515 


ACT   II.    SCENE   L 

A  Room  in  Overreach's  House. 

Enter  Overreach  and  Marrall. 

Over.  He*s  gone,  I  warrant  thee ;  this  commis* 
sion  crushed  him. 

Mar.  Your  worships*  have  the  way  on't,  and 
ne'er  miss 
To  squeeze  these  unthrifts  into  air:  and  yet, 
The  chapfall'n  justice  didhis  part,  returning, 
For  your  advantage,  the  certificate, 
Against  his  conscience,  and  his  knowledge  too, 
With  your  good  favour,  to  the  utter  ruin 
Of  the  poor  farmer. 

Over.  Tvvas  for  these  good  ends 
I  made  him  a  justice:  he  that  bribes  his  belly. 
Is  certain  to  command  his  soul. 

Mar.  I  wonder, 
Still  with  your  license,  why,  your  worship  having 
The  power  to  put  this  thin-gut  in  commission. 
You  are  not  in't  yourself? 

Over,  Thou  art  a  fool ; 
In  being  out  of  office  I  am  out  of  danger ; 
Where,  if  I  were  a  justice,  besides  the  trouble, 
I  might  or  out  of  wilfulness,  or  error, 
Run  myself  finely  into  a  premunire, 
And  so  become  a  prey  to  the  informer. 

■  Mar.  Your  WQrships  have  the  way  on'tj  and  ne'er  miss]  The 
quarto  reads :  Your  worship  have  the  way  autj  &c.  Outy  of 
course,  is  a  misprint.  Whether  the  grammatical  error  be  cor- 
rected in  the  right  place^  must  be  kft  to  the  reader's  better 
judgment. 


516  A  NEW  WAY  Tp  PAY  OLD  DEBTS, 

No,  I'll  have  none  oft ;  'tis  enough  I  keep 
Greedy  at  my  devotion  :  so  he  serve 
My  purposes,  let  him  hang^  or  damn^  I  care  not; 
^  Friendship  is  but  a  word. 
Mar.  You  are  all  wisdom. 
Over.  I  would  be  worldly  wise ;  for  the  other 
wisdom, 
That  does  prescribe  us  a  well  governed  life, 
And  to  do  right  to  others,  as  ourselves, 
I  value  not  an  atom. 
,      Mar.  What  course  take  you, 
1  With  your  good  patience,  to  hedge  in  the  manor 
i  Of  your  neighbour,  master  Frugal?  as  *tis  said 
'.He  will  nor  sell,  nor  borrow,  nor  exchange; 
And  his  land,  lying  in  the  midst  of  your  many 

lordships, 
Is  a  foul  blemish. 

Over.  I  have  thought  on*t,  Marrall, 
And  it  shall  take.     I  must  have  all  men  sellers. 
And  I  the  only  purchaser. 
Mar.  'Tis  most  fit,  sir. 

Over,  ril  therefore  buy  some  cottage  near  his 
manor," 
'  Which  done,  I'll  make  my  men  break  ope  his 
fences, 

*  Orer.  Pll  therefore  buy  some  cottage  near  his  manor^  &c.] 
Sir  Giles  is  a  bold  and  daring  oppressor,  snfficiently  original  in 
his  general  plans,  and  not  scrupulous  of  the  means  employed 
in  their  execution.  Here,  howerer,  he  is  but  an  imitator;  the 
methods  of  wresting  a  defenceless  neighbour's  envied  property 
from  him  have  been  understood,  and  practised,  by  the  Over- 
reaches of  every  age,  from  that  of  Ahab  to  the  present. — Licet 
agros  agris^  adjiciat^  says  Seneca,  vicinum  vel  pretio  pellat  (zris^ 
Vel  injuria.    And  Juyenal,  more  at  large : 

majorque  videtur^ 

Et  melior  vicina  seges  ;  mercaris  et  hanc,  et 

Arbuata^  et  densa  tnontem  qui  canet  oliva. 

Quorum  si  pretio  dommus  non  vincitur  uUoy 

t/octe  boves  macri^  lassoquefamelica  colh 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  517 

Ride  o'er  his  standing  corn,  and  in  the  night 
Set  fire  on  his  barns,  or  break  his  cattle's  legs : 

* 

Jumenta  ad  virides  ki0u9  mitUniur  cristas. 
Dicere  vix  possisy  quam  multi  talia  plorentj 
Et  quot  venaUs  injuria  fecerit  agros*     Sat.  zif.  rer.  142« 

Sir  Giles  has  been  usually  accounted  the  creature  of  the  poet. 
Fortunately  for  mankind,  indeed,  such  monstrous  anomalies  in 
the  moral  world  do  not  often  appear;  there  can,  howefer,  be  no 
doubt  of  their  reality,  and  the  age  of  Massinger  was  not  without 
a  proof  of  it. 

Sir  Giles  Mompesson  was  undoubtedly  the  prototype  of  Sir 
Giles  Orerreach.  He  and  one  Michel  bad  obtained  of  the  facile 
James  a  patent  for  the  sole  manufacturing  of  gold  and  silrer 
thread,  which  they  abused  to  the  most  detestable  purposes. 
^'  They  found  out,*'  says  Wilson,  a  ^^  new  alchemistical  way  to 
make  gold  and  silrer  lace  with  copper  and  other  sophistical  ma« 
terials»  to  consen  and  deceire  the  people.  And  so  poysonoos 
.were  the  drugs  that  made  up  this  deceitful  composition,  that 
they  rotted  the  hands  and  arms,  and  brought  lameness  upon 
those  that  wrought  it ;  some  losing  their  eyes,  and  many  their 
lires,  by  the  renom  of  the  rapours  that  came  from  it.'* 

The  clamours  were  so  great  on  this  occasion,  that  the  king 
was  obliged  to  call  in  the  pajtent,  and  prosecute  the  offenders. 
There  is  an  allusion  to  these  circumstances  in  tke  Bondman^ 
which  was  published  while  the  affair  was  yet  recent: 

«  Here's  another, 

<^  Obserre  but  what  a  cotming  look  he  has  !<-« 

^^  Hold  up  thy  head,  mi^n ;  if,  for  drawing  gallants 

^*  Into  mortgages  for  commodities,  cheating  heirs 

<<  With  your  new  eoimterfdi  gold  tkread^and  gummed  relrets, 

^<  He  d<K$  not  transcend  all  that  went  before  himy 

<<  CaU  in  ki$  patent?'  Act  11.  Sc.  9. 

And  also  in  Shirley :  ^<  I  shall  find  you  both  in  the  pillory 
for  selling  copper  lace  by  a  wrong  name."    Tke  Doubtful  Heir. 

But  to  proceed :  ^'  Sir  Giles  Mompesson  had  fortune  enough 
in  the  country  to  make  him  happy,  if  that  sphere  could  ba?e 
contained  him,  but  the  Tulgar  and  unirersal  error  of  satiety  with 
present  enjoyments,  made  him  too  big  for  a  rusticall  condition^ 
arid  when  he  came  at  court  he  was  too  little  for  that,  so  that 
some  norelty  must  be  taken  up  to  i»et  him  in  sequitibrio  to  the 
place  he  was  in,  no  matter  what  it  was,  let  it  be  never  so  pesti* 
lent  and  mischierous  to  others,  he  cared  not,  so  he  found  benefit 
l>y  it.    To  him  Michel  U  made  compartner ;  a  poor  iaeakihg 

VOL.  IIU  •Mm 


318  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

These  trespasses  draw  o*^  suits,  and  suits  expenses^ 
Which  I  can  spare,  but  will  soon  beggar  nim. 
When  I  have  harried  him  thus  two  or  three  year, 
Though  he  sue  in  forma  pauperis^  in  spite 
Of  all  his  thrift  and  care,  he'll  grow  behind  hand» 

Mar.  The  best  I  ever  heard !  I  could  adore  you. 

Over.  Then,  with  the  favour  of  my  man  of  law, 
I  will  pretend  some  title :  want  will  force  him 
To  put  it  to  arbitrement;  then,  if  he  sell 
For  half  the  value,  he  shall  have  ready  money. 
And  I  possess  his  land. 

Mar.  Tis  above  wonuer : 
Wellborn  was  apt  to  sell,  and  needed  not 
These  fine  arts,  sir,  to  hook  him  in. 

Over.  Well  thought  on. 
This  varlct,  Marrall,' lives  too  long,  to  upbraid  me 
With  my  close  cheat  put  upon  him.  Will  nor  cold. 
Nor  hunger,  kill  him  ? 

justice,  ihat  lived  among  tbe  brothels  near  Clarton-vel,  irhose 
clerk  and  he  picked  a  liTeljhood  oat  of  those  corners,  gvnng 
warrants  for  what  they  did,  besides  annirersarj  stipends  (the 
frequent  reyenue  of  some  justices  of  those  times)  for  conniying. 
This  thing  was  a  pojsonouB  plant  in  its  own  nature,  and  the 
fitter  to  be  an  ingredieiit  to  such  a  composition — ^whereby  he 
took  liberty  to  be  more  ravenous  upon  poor  people,  to  the 
grating  of  the  bones,  and  sucking  out  the  very  marrow  of  their 
substance."  Wilson'fl  Life  and  Reign  ^  James  I.  m^  anno  1691^ 
FoK  156. 

From  this  apposite  extract,  which  I  owe  to  the  kindness 
of  my  ingenious  friend  Mr.  Gilchrist,  it  will  be  sufficiently 
apparent  not  only  whence  Massinger  derived  his  principal 
i^haracter,  but  also  where  he  found  MarraU  and  Greedy.  The 
sneaking  justice^  Michel,  undoubtedly  sat  for  the  latter,  and  hia 
clerk  for  the  **  term.driving''Marrall;  whose  hopeful  education 
will  now  enable  the  reader  to  account  for. his  knowledge  of  the. 
^^  minerals,  which  he  incorporated  with  the  ink  and  wax"  of 
Wellborn's  bond. 

'  This  varlet,  Marrall,  lives  too  long^  So  the  old  copy.  The 
modern  editors,  for  no  apparent  cause,  at  least  none  that  I  can 
discover,  chooio  to  read^  Tlus  tarlet,  Wellborn,  lives  too  long  J 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  519 

Mar.  I  know  not  wljSt  to  think  oa't. 
I  have  used  all  means;  and  the  last  night  I  caused 
His  host,  the  tapster,  to  turn  him  out  of  doors ; 
And  have  been  since  wtth  all  your  friends  and 

tenants. 
And,  on  the  forfeit  of  your  favour,  charged  them, 
Though  a  crust  of  mouldy  bread  would  keep  him 

from  starving, 
Yet  thev  should  not  relieve  him.  This  is  done,  sir. 

Over.  That  was  something,  Marrall ;  but  thou 
must  go  furt^ern 
And  suddenly,  MarralL 

Mar.  Where,'  and  when  you  please,  sir. 

Over.  I  would  have  thee  seek  him  out,  and,  if 
thou  canst, 
Persuade  him  that  'tis  better  steal  than  beg ;       / 
Then,  if  I  prove  he  has  but  robb'd  a  henroost, 
Not  all  the  world  shall  save  him  from  the  gallows. 
Do  any  thing  to  work  him  to  despair ;  y 

And  'tis  thy  masterpiece. 

Mar.  I  will  do  my  best,  sir. 

Over.  I  am  now  on  my  main  work  with  the 
lord  Lovell, 
The  gallant-minded,  popular  lord  Lovell, 
The  minion  of  the  people's  love.     I  hear  ^ 

He's  come  into  the  country,  and  my  aims  are 
To  insinuate  myself  into  his  knowledge, 
And  then  invite  him  to  my  house. 

Mar.  I  have  you  : 
This  points  at  my  young  mistress. 

Over.  She  must  part  with 
That  humble  title,  and  write  hcrnourable. 
Right  honourable,  Marrall,  my  right  honourable 

daughter; 
If  all  I  have,  or  e'er  shall  get,  will  do  it. 
I'll  have  her  well  attended  ;  there  are  ladies 
Of  errant  knights  decay 'd,  and  brought  so  low, 

♦  M  m  2 


5£0  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

That  for  cast  clothes  and  meat  will  gladly  serve 

her. 
And  ^tis  my  glory,  though  I  come  from  the  city, 
To  have  their  issue  whom  I  have  undone, 
To  kneel  to  mine  as  bondslaves. 

Mar.  Tis  fit  state,  sir. 

Over*  And  therefore,  I'll  not  have  a  chamber-* 
maid 
That  ties  her  shoes,  or  any  meaner  office, 
But  such  whose  fathers  were  right  worshipful. 
*Tis  a  rich  man's  pride !  there  having  ever  been 
More  than  a  feudT,  a  strange  antipathy. 
Between  us  and  true  gentry. 

Enter  Wellborn, 

Mar.  See,  who's  here,  sir. 

Owr.  Hence,  monster !  prodigy  ! 
'  Well.  Sir,  your  wife's  nephew  ;* 
She  and  my  father  tumbled  in  one  belly. 

Over.  Avoid  my  sight !  thy  breath's  infectious, 
rogue  1 
I  shun  thee  as  a  leprosy,  or  the  plague. — 
Come  hither,  Marrall — this  is  the  time  to  work 
hi  m .  [Aside,  and  exit. 

Mar.  I  warrant  you,  sir. 

fFell.  By  this  light,  I  think  he's  mad. 

Mar.   Mad!    had  you  ta'en  compassion  on 
yourself,  ^ 
You  lotiff  since  had  been  mad. 

PTell.  You  have  ta'en  a  course 
Between  you  and  my  venerable  uncle, 
To  make  me  so. 

*  Well.  Sir f  your  mf^i  nephew  il  Coxcter  thinks  something 
is  lost,  because  when  Oterreach  exclaims  monster !  prodigy  I 
Wellborn  replies,  Sir^  your  wife's  nephew.  But  all  is  as  it  should 
be;  his  answer  evidently  implies,  Sir,  I  am  neither  one  nor  th« 
other,  hitf  4pc.    This  is  a  common  form  of  speech. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  ^21 

Mar.  The  more  pale-spirited*  you, 
That  would  not  be  instructed.  I  sweardecply— — 

Well  By  what? 

Mar.  By  my  religion. 

Well.  Thy  religion  ! 
The  deviPs  creed : — ^but  what  would  you  have 
done? 

Mar.  Had  there  been  but  one  tree  in  all  the 
shire^ 
Nor  any  hope  to  compass  a  penny  halter, 
Before,  like  you,  I  had  outlived  my  fortunes, 
A  withe  had  served  my  turn  to  hang  myself. 
I  am  zealous  in  your  cause;   pray  you  hang 

yourself,* 
And  presently,  as  you  love  your  credit. 

Well.  I  thank  you. 

Mar.  Will  you  stay  till  you  die  in  a  ditch,  or 

lice  devour  you  ? 

Or^  if  you  dare  not  do  the  feat  yourself. 
But  that  you'll  put  the  state  to  charge  and  trouble, 
Is  there  no  purse  to  be  cut,  house  to  be  broken, 
Or  market-woman  with   eggs,   that  you   may 

murder, 
And  so  dispatch  the  business  ? 

WelU  Here's  variety, 

i  Mar.  The  more  pale-spirited  ^ou,]  Sarely  this  is  rerj  good. 
sense;  jet  Cozeter  and  M.  Mason  choose  to  read,  The  more 
duU'-spirited  you.     I  am  irearj  of  these  everlasting  sophistica* 
tioni  without  judgment  and  without  necessitj. 
The  same  expression  occurs  in  the  Parliament  ofJjoroe. 
*•  ■  To  what  pnrpose, 

^^  Poor  and  pah^rited  man,  should  I  expect 
^<  From  thee  the  satisfaction,"  Sec.  Act  11.  Sc.  9* 

^  lam  zealous  m pour  cause ;  pray  you  hang  yourself ^ 
And  presently^  This  line  is  wholly  omitted  both  by  Coxeter 
and  Mr.  M*  Mason,  though  the  sense  of  the  next  depends  upon 
it    Less  care  to  amend  tiieir  author,  and  more  to  exhibit  him 
ftitUnUj^  might  be  wished  in  both  of  them. 


522  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

I  must  confess ;  but  I'll  accept  of  none 
Of  all  your  gentle  offers,  I  assure  you. 

Mar.  Why,  have  you  hope  ever  to  eat  again. 
Or  drink  ?  or  be  the  master  of  three  farthings  ? 
If  you  like  not  hanging,  drown  yourself;  take 

some  course 
For  your  reputation. 

IrelL  'Twill  not  do,  dear  tempter. 
With  all  the  rhetoric  the  fiend  hath  taught  you. 
I  am  as  far  as  thou  art  from  despair ; 
^^    Nay,  I  have  confidence,  which  is  more  than  hope. 
To  live,  and  suddenly,  better  than  ever. 

Mar.  Ha  1  ha !  these  castles  you  build  in  the  air, 
Will  not  persuade  me  or  to  give,  or  lend, 
A  token  to  you. 

JVelL  I'll  be  more  kind. to  thee: 
Come,  thou  shalt  dine  with  me. 

Mar.  With  you  ! 

Well.  Nay  more,  dine  gratis. 

Mar.  Under  what  hedge,  I  pray  you?  or  at 
whose  cost  ? 
Are  they  padders,.  or  abram-men^  that  are  your 
consorts  ? 

^e//.  Thou  art  incredulous;  but  thou  shalt  dine, 
Not  alone  at  her  house,  but  with  a  gallant  lady; 
With  me,  and  with  a  lady. 

Mar.  Lady  !  what  lady  ? 
With  the  lady  of  the  lake,'  ox  queen  of  fairies  ? 
For  I  know  it  must  be  an  enchanted  dinner. 

fVell.  With  the  lady  All  worth,  knave. 

^  Are  theypadders^  or  abram-men  that  are  your  conswtsf]  Ab 
affram^man  was  an  impudent  impostor,  who,  under  the  garb  and 
appearance  of  a  lunatic^  rambled  about  the  country,  and  com* 
polled,  as  Decker  says,  the  senrants  of  small  families  ^^  to  give 
him,  through  fear,  what  erer  he  demanded."  Apadder  (a  term 
still  in  use)  is  a  lurker  about  the  highways,  a  footpad. 

f  With  the  lady  of  the  lake^]   This  is  a  very  projninent 


.^-^ 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS-  523 

Mar.  Nay,  now  there's  hope 
Thy  brain  is  crack'd. 

WdU  Mark  there,  with  what  respect 
I  am  entertained. 

Mar.  With  choice,  no  doubt,  of  dog-whips. 
Why,  dost  thou  ever  hope  to  pass  her  porter  ? 

Wdl.  'Tis  not  far  off,  go  with  me;  trust  thine 
own  eyes. 

Mar.   Troth,  in  my  hope,   or  my  assurance 
rather, 
To  see  thee  curvet,  and  mount  like  a  dog  in  a 

blanket. 
If  ever  thou  presume  to  pass  her  threshold, 
I  will  endure  thy.  company. 

Well.  Come  along  then.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  ir. 

A  Room  in  Lady  All  worth's  House. 

Enter  Allworth,  Waiting  Woman,  Chamber- 
maid, Order,  Amble,  Furnace,  ^n^  Watch- 
all. 

r 

Woman.  Could  you  not  command  your  leisure 
one  hour  longer  ? 

Cham.  Or  half  an  hour  ? 

All.  I  have  told  you  what  my  haste  is  : 
Besides,  being  now  another's,  not  mine  own, 
Howe'er  I  much  desire  to  enjoy  you  longer. 
My  duty  suffers,  if,  to  please  myself, 
I  should  neglect  my  lord. 

Woman,  rray  you  do  me  the  favour 

character  in  M^te  Arthur^  and  in  many  of  onr  old  romanc^i. 
She  seems'  to  be  the  Circe  of  the  dark  ages;  and  is  frequently 
mentioned  by  onr  old  dramatists. 


524      A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

To  put  these  hvr  quince^cakes  into  your  pocket ; 
They  are  of  mine  own  preserving. 

Cham.  And  this  marmalade ; 
'Tis  comfortable  for  your  stomach. 

Woman.  And,  at  parting, 
Excuse  me  if  I  be^  a  farewell  from  you. 

Cham.  You  are  still  before  me.  I  move  the  same 
suit,  sir.    *    [AUworth  kisses  them  severally. 
Furn.  How  greedy  these  chamberers  are  of  a 
beardless  chin ! 
I  think  the  tits  will  ravish  bim« 

AIL  My  service 
To  both. 

Woman.  Ours  waits  on  you. 
Cham.  And  shall  do  ever. 
Ord.  You  are  my  lady's  charge,  be  therefore 
careful 
That  you  sustain  your  parts. 

Woman.  We  can  bear,  I  warrant  you. 

[Exeunt  Waiting  Woman  and  Chambermaid. 
Furn.  Here,  drink  it  off;  the  ingredients  are 
cordial, 
And  this  the  true  elixir ;  it  hath  boiPd 
Since  midnight  for  you.    Tis  the  quintessence 
Of  five  cocks  of  the  game,  ten  dozen  of  sparrows. 
Knuckles  of  veal,  potatoe-roots,  and  marrow, 
Coral,  and  ambergris :  were  you  two  years  older. 
And  I  had  a  wife,  or  gamesome  mistress, 
I  durst  trust  you  with  neither:  you  need  not  bait 
After  this,  I  warrant  you,  though  your  journey^ 

long; 
You  may  ride  on  the  strength  of  this  till  to  mor- 
row morning. 
All.  Your  courtesies  overwhelm  me :  I  much 
grieve 
To  part  from  such  true  friends ;  and  yet  find 
comfort^ 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  S%S 

My  attendance  on  my  honourable  lord, 
Whose  resolution  holds  to  visit  my  lady^ 
Will  speedily  bring  me  back. 

[Knocking  within*    Exit  JVatchalL 

Mar.  \within.'\  Dar*st  thou  venture  further? 

JVelL  \within^  Yes,  yes,  and  knock  again. 

Ord.  Tis  he ;  disperse ! 

Amb.  Perform  it  bravely. 

Furn.  I  know  my  cue,  ne'er  doubt  me. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Alhuorth. 

Ue-en/er. Watch  ALL,  ceremoniously  introducing 
Wellborn  and  Marrall. 

Watch.  Beast  that  I  was,  to  make  you  stay ! 
most  welcome ; 
You  were  long  since  expected. 

Well.  Say  so  much 
To  my  friend,  I  pray  you. 

Watch.  For  your  sake,  I  will,  sir. 

Mar.  For  his  sake  ! 

Well.  Mum  ;  this  is  nothing. 

Mar.  More  than  ever 
I  would  have  believed,  though  I  had  found  it  in 
my  primer. 

All.  When  I  have  given  you  reasons  for  my 
late  harshness, 
YouNl  pardon  and  excuse  me;  for,  believe  me. 
Though  now  I  part  abruptly,  in  my  service 
I  will  deserve  it. 

Mar.  Service  I  with  a  vengeance  ! 

Well.  I  am  satisfied :  farewell.  Tort. 

AIL  All  joy  stay  with  you  I  {Exit. 


526  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 


Re-enter  Ambue. 

Amb.  You  are  happily  encounterM ;  I  yet  never 
Presented  one  so  welcome  as,  I  know, 
You  will  be  to  my  lady. 

Mar.  This  is  some  vision  ; 
Or,  sure,  these  mcfki  are  mad,  to  worship  a  dunghill ; 
It  cannot  be  a  truth. 

IVell.  Be  still  a  pagan, 
An  unbelieving  infidel ;  be  so,  miscreant, 
And  meditate  on  btanketSy  and  on  dog'whips  ! 

Re-enter  Furnace. 

Furn.  I  am  glad  you  are  come ;  until  I  know 
your  pleasure, 
I  knew  not  now  to  serve  up  my  lady's  dinner. 
Mar.  His  pleasure  !  is  it  possible  ? 
fFelt.  What's  thy  will? 

Fum.  Marry,  sir,  I  have  some  growse,  and 
turkey  chicken. 
Some  rails  and  quails,  and  my  lady  will'd  me  ask 

What  kind  of  sauces  best  affect  your  palate, 
That  I  mav  use  my  utmost  skill  to  please  it. 
Mar.  The  devil's  enter'd  this  cook :  sauce  for 
his  palate  ! 
That,  on  my  knowledge,  for  almost  this  twelve- 

nwnth, 
Durst  wish  but  cheeseparings  and  brown  bread 
on  Sundays.  [Aside. 

Well.  That  way  I  like  them  best. 
Furn.  It  shall  be  done,  sir.  [Ejpit^ 

.  Well.  What  think  you  of  the  hedge  we  shall 
dine  under  f 
Shall  we  feed  gratis  ? 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS,  527 

Mar.  I  know  not  what  to  think ; 
Pray  you  make  me  not  mad. 

Rt'^enter  Order. 

Ord.  Thi$  place  becomes  you  not ; 
Pray  you  walk,  sir,  to  the  dining  room* 

TrelL  I  am  well  here, 
Till  her  ladyship  quits  her  chamber. 

Mar.  Well  here,  say  you  ? 
Tis  a  rare  change  !  but  yesterday  you  thought 
Yourself  well  in  a  barn,  wrapped  up  in  pease-straw. 

Re-enter  Waiting  Woman  and  Chambermaid. 

Woman.  O  !  sir,  you  are  wish'd  for. 

Cham.  My  lady  dreamt,  sir,  of  you. 

fVoman.  And  the  first  command  she  gave,  after 
she  rose. 
Was,  (her  devotions  done,)  to  give  her  notice 
When  you  approach'd  here. 

Cham.  Which  is  done,  on  my  virtue. 

Mar.  I  shall  be  converted  ;  I  begin  to  grow 
Into  a  new  belief,  which  saints,  nor  angels^ 
Could  have  won  me  to  have  faith  in. 

IVoman.  Sir,  my  lady  ! 

Enter  Ladjf  Allworth. 

Z.  All.  I  come  to  meet  you,  and  languished  till 
I  saw  you. 
This  first  kiss  is  for  form  ;  I  allow  a  second 
^  To  such  a  friend.  [Kisses  WeUborn. 

Mar.  To  such  a  friend  !  heaven  bless  me  ! 
JVelL  I  am  wholly  yours;  yet,  madam,  if  you 
please 
To  grace  this  gentleman  with  a  salute — ^ 


528  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Mar.  Salute  me  at  his  bidding! 

Wtll.  I  shall  receive  it 
As  a  most  high  favour. 

Z.  All.  Sir,  you  may  command  me. 

[Advances  to  salute  Marrall^  who  retires. 

Well.  Run  backward  from  a  lady  !  and  such  a 
lady ! 

Mar.  To  kiss  her  foot  is,  to  poor  me,  a  favour 
I  am  unworthy  of.  ^Offers  to  kiss^her/oot. 

L.  All.  Nay,  pray  you  rise ; 
And  since  you  are  so  humble,  Fll  exalt  you  : 
You  shall  dine  with  me  to  day,  at  mine  own  table. 

Mot.  Your  ladyship's  table !  I  am  not  good 
enough 
To  sit  at  your  steward's  board. 

X*  AIL  You  &re  too  modest : 
I  will  not  be  denied. 

Re-enter  Furnace. 

Turn.  Will  you  still  be  babbling 
Till  your  meat  freeze  on  the  table  ?  the  old  trick 

still ; 
My  art  ne'er  thought  on  I 

L.  AIL  Your  arm,  master  Wellborn : 

Nay,  keep  us  company.  [Jb  Marrall. 

Mar.  i  was  ne'er  so  graced. 
[Exeunt  Wellborn^  Lady,  Allworth^  Amble,  Marr^ 
all,  Waiting  Woman,  and  Chambermmd. 
j     Ord.  So  1  we  have  play'd  our  parts,  and  are 
I  come  off  well ; 

I  But  if  I  know  the  mystery,  why  my  lady 
\  Consented  to  it,  or  whv  master  Wellborn 
Desired  it,  may  I  perish ! 

Fum.  Would  I  had 
The  roasting  of  his  heart  that  cheated  him,. 
And  forces  the  poor  gentleman  to  these  shifts ! 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  5S9 

By  fire !  for  cooks  are  Persians,  and  sweat  by  it, 
Of  all  the  griping  and  extorting  tyrants 
I  ever  heard  or  read  of,  I  ne'er  met 
A  match  to  sir  Giles  Overreach. 

JVatch.  What  will  you  take 
To  tell  him  so,  fellow  Furnace? 

Fur.  Just  as  much 
As  my  -throat  is  worth,  for  that  would  be  the 

price  on't. 
To  have  a  usurer  that  starves  himself. 
And  wears  a  cloak  of  one  and  twenty  years 
On^  a  suit  of  fourteen  groats,  bought  of  the 

hangman, 
To  grow  rich,  and  then  purchase,  is  too  common : 
But  this  sir  Giles  feeds  high,  keeps  many  servants, 
Who  must  at  his  command  do  any  outrage ; 
Rich  in  his  habit,  vast  in  his  expenses; 
Yet  he  to  admiration  still  increases 
In  wealth,  and  lordships. 

Ord.  He  frights  men  out  of  their  estates. 
And  breaks  through  all  law-nets,  made  to  curb 

ill  men. 
As  they  were  cobwebs.  No  man  dares  reprove  him^ 
Such  a  spirit  to  dare,  and  power  to  do,  were  never 
Lodged  so  unluckily/ 

Re-enter  Amble  laughing. 

Amb.  Ha  !  ha  1  I  shall  burst 
Ord.  Contain  thyself,  man, 
Fum.  Or  make  us  partakers 
Of  your  sudden  mirth. ' 

m 

^  On  a  snit^  &c.]  Cozeier  and  Mr.  M.  Mason  read,  Or  a  suit^ 
irhich  totally  destroys  the  author's  meaning.  But  in  their  edi. 
tions  every  page,  and  almost  eyery  speech,  of  this  fine  Comedy 
is  replete  with  similar  blunders. 

■  The  character  of  sir  Giles  is  unfolded  by  these  men  with 
great  spirit  and  precision. 


530  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Amb.  Ha !  ha !  my  lady  has  ^ot 
Such  a  guest  at  her  table ! — tnis  term-driver, 

Marrally 
This  snip  of  an  attorney 

Fum.  What  of  him,  man  ? 

Amb.  The  knave  thinks  still  he's  at  the  cook's 
shop  in  Ram  Alley/ 
Where  the  clerks  divide^  and  the  elder  is  to 

choose ; 
And  feeds  so  slovenly  ! 

Fum.  Is  this  all  ? 

Amb.  My  lady 
Drank  to  him  for  fashion  sake,  or  to  please 

master  Wellborn ; 
As  I  live,  he  rises,  and  takes  up  a  dish 
lu  vhich  there  were  some  remnants  of  a  boil'd 

capon. 
And  pledges  her  in  white  broth  ! 

Fum.  Nay,  'tis  like 
The  rest  of  his  tribe. 

Amb.  And  when  I  brought  him  wine, 
He  leaves  his  stool,  and;  after  a  leg  or  two,     ^ 
Mt>st  humbly  thanks  my  worship. 

Ord.  Risen  already ! 

Amb.  I  shall  be  chid. 

Re-enter  Lady  Allwoeth,  Wellborn,  and 

Mabrall. 

Fum.  My  lady  frowns. 

Z.  All.  You  wait  well !  \To  Amble. 


»     ^  ^■  tit  cook's  shop  in  Ram  Alley,]  Ram 

Aiky  11  one  of  the  areoaes  ioto  the  Temple  from  Fleet-street : 
the  number  of  its  cooks'  shops  is  alladed  to  in  Barry's  comedy : 
<<  And  though  Ram  Alley  stinks  with  cooks  and  ale, 
"  Yet  say,  there's  many  a  worthy  lawyer's  chamber 
*<  That  bats  upon  it"  Ram  Alley ^  Act  I. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  531 

Let  me  have  no  more  of  this ;  I  observed  your 

jeering : 
Sirrah,  I'll  have  yiou  know^,  whom  I  think  worthy 
To  sit  at  my  table,  be  he  ne'er  so  mean,- 
When  I  am  present,  is  not  your  companion. 

Ord.  Nav,  she'll  preserve  what's  due  to  her. 

Furn.  This  refreshing 
Follows  your  flux  of  laughter. 

L.  All.  \To  Wellborn.']  You  are  master 
Of  your  own  will.    I  know  so  much  of  manners^ 
As  not  to  enquire  your  purposes ;  in  k  word, 
To  me  you  are  ever  welcome,  as  to  a  house 
That  is  your  own. 

JVell.  Mark  that*  {Aside  to  Marrall^ 

Mar.  With  reverence,  sir, 
An  it  like  your  worship.' 

/Fe//»  Trouble  yourself  no  further, 
Dear  madam ;  my  heart's  full  of  zeal  and  service^ 
However  in  my  language  I  am  sparing. 
Come,  master  Marrall. 

Mar.  I  attend  your  worship. 

[E^veunt  JVellborn  and  MarralL 

L.  All.  I  see  in  your  looks  you  are  sorry,  and 
you  know  me 
An  easy  mistress:  be  merry ;  I  have  forgot  all. 
Order  and  Furnace,  come  w*ith  me;  I  must  give 

you 
Further  directions. 

Ord.  What  you  please. 

Furn.  We  are  ready.  \Exeunt» 

'  Mar.  With  reoerence,  sir^ 

An  it  like  your  worship."]  This  change  of  language  in  MarraU 
b  worth  notice :  it  is  trnlj  characteristic. 


r- 


532  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 


SCENE  III. 
The  Country  near  Ladj/  AUworth's  House. 

Enter  Wellborn,  and  Marrall  bare-headed. 

Well.  I  think  I  am  in  a  good  way. 

Mar.  Good!  sir;  the  best  way,. 
The  certaitt  best  way, 

WeU.  There  are  casualties 
That  men  are  subject  to. 

Mar.  You  are  above  them ; 
And  as  you  are  already  worshipful, 
I  hope  ere  long  you  will  increase  in  worship. 
And  be,  right  worshipful. 

WeU.  Prithee  do  not  flout  me : 
What  I  shall  be,  I  shall  be*    Is't  for  your  ease, 
You  keep  your  hat  off? 

Mar.  Ease  !  an  it  like  your  worship ! 
I  hope  Jack  Marrall  shall  not  live  so  long. 
To  prove  himself  such  an  unmannerly  beast, 
Though  it  hail  hazel  nuts,  as  to  be  cover'd 
When  your  worship's  present. 

Well.  Is  not  this  a  true  rogue, 
That,  out  of  mere  hope  of  a  future  cozenage. 
Can  turn  thus  suddenly?  'tis  rank  already.  [Aside^ 

Mar.  I  kndw  your  worship's  wise,  and  needs 
no  counsel : 

*  a 

Yet  if,  in  my  desire  to  do  you  service, 
I  humbly  offer  my  advice,  (but  still 
Under  correction,)  I  hope  1  shall  not 
Incur  your  high  displeasure. 

Well.  No  ;  speak  freely.- 

Mar.  Then,  in  my  judgment,  sir,  my  simple 
judgment, 


*    * 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  533 

(Still  with  your  worship's  fa vour, )  I  could  wishy'oa 
A  better  habit,  for  this  cannot  be 
But  much  distasteful  to  the  noble  lady, 
(I  say  no  more)  that  loves  you :  for,  this  morning. 
To  me,  and  I  am  but  a  swine  to  her. 
Before  the  assurance  of  her  wealth  perfumed  you,'] 
You  savoured  not  pf  amber. 
IVelL  I  do  now  th,en ! 

^Mar.  This  your  batoon  hath  got  a  touch  of 

it—  [Kisses  the  end  of  his  cudgtl. 

Yet,  if  you  please,  for  change,  I  have  twenty 

pounds  here, 
Which,  out  of  my  true  love,  I'll  presently 
Lay  down  at  your  worship's  feet ;  'twill  serve  to 

buy  you 
A  riding  suit. 

fVclL  But  where*8  the  horse  ? 
Mar.  My  gelding 
Is  at  your  service:  nav,  you  shall  ride  me, 
Before  your  worship  shall  be  put  to  the  trouble 
To  walk  afoot.  Alas !    when  you  are  lord 
Of  this  lady's  manof,  as  I  knQw  you  will  be, 
You  may  with  the  lease  of  glebe  land,  call'd 

Knave's-acre, 
A  place  I  would  manure,  requite  your  vassal. 
Well.  I  thank  thy  love,  but  must  make  no  use 


of  it; 
What's  twenty  pounds  ? 

Mar.  'Tis  all  that  I  can  make,  sir. 
Well.  Dost  thou  think,  though  1  want  clothes, 
I  could  not  have  them. 
For  one  word  to  my  lady  ? 
Mar.  As  I  know  not  that ! 

^  As  I  knmo  not  that  f]  This,  like  too  many  others,  is  printed 
by  the  modern  editors  as  an  imperfect  sentence :  the  expressiou 
is,  however,  intire,  and  means^  in  colloquial  language,  As  t/'I 
do,  or  did,  not  know  that  you  might! 

VOL.  III.  *  N  n 


534  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

JVelL  Come,  I  will  tell  thee  a  secret,  and  so 
leave  thee. 
I'll  not  give  her  the  advantage,  though  she  be 
A  gallant-minded  lady,  after  we  are  married, 
(There  being  no  woman,  but  is  sometimes  fro- 
war  d,) 
To  hit  me  in  the  teeth,  and  say,  sh6  was  forced 
To  buy  my  wedding-clothes,  and  took  me  on, 
With  a  plain  riding-suit,  and  an  ambling  nag. 
No,  ril  be  furnish 'd  something  like  myself. 
And  so  farewell :  for  thy  suit  touching  Knave's- 

acre. 
When  it  is  mine,  'tis  thine.  [£^V. 

Mar.  I  thank  your  worship. 
How  was  I  cozen'd  in  the  calculation 
Of  this  man's  fortune  !  my  master  cozen'd  too,  - 
Whose  pupil  I  am  in  the  art  of  undoing  men; 
For  that  is  our  profession  I  Well,  well,  master 

Wellborn, 
You  are  of  a  sweet  nature,  and  fit  again  to  be 

cheated : 
Which,  if  the  Fates  please,  when  you  are  possessed 
Of  the  land  and  lady,  you,  sans  question,  shall  be. 
I'll  presently  think  of  the  means. 

[fValks  by,  musingt 

Enter  Overreach,  speaking  to  a  servant  within. 

■ 

Over.  Sirrah,  take  my  horse. 
I'll  walk  to  get  me  an  appetite ;  'tis  but  a  mile, 
And  exercise  will  keep  me  from  being  pursey. 
Ha  !  Marrall !  is  he  conjuring?  perhaps 
The  knave  has  wrought  the  prodigal  to  do 
Some  outrage  on  himself  and  now  he  feels 
Compunction  in  his  conscience  for't :  no  matter, 
So  it  be  done.     Marrall! 

Mar.  Sir. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS-  535 

Over.  How  succeed  we 
In  our  plot  on  Wellborn  ? 

Mar.  Never  better,  sin 

Over.  Has  he  hang'd  or  drowned  hiiiiself  ? 

Mar.  No,  sir,  he  lives ; 
Lives  once  more  to  be  made  a  prey  to  you, 
A  greater  prey  than  ever. 

Over.  Art  thou  in  thy  wits  ? 
If  thou  art,  reveal  this  miracle,  and  briefly. 

Mar.  A  lady,  sir,  is  fall'a  in  love  with  him. 

Over.  With  him  !  whp^t  lady  ? 

Mar.  The  ricK  lady  All  worth. 

Over.  Thou  dolt!  how  dar'st  thou  speak  thi«  ? 

Mar.  I  speak  truth, 
And  I  do  so  but  once  a  year,  unless 
It  be  to  you,  sir:  we  dined  with  her  ladyship, 
I  thank  his  worship. 

Over.  His  worship  ! 

Mar.  As  I  live,  sir, 
I  dined  with  him,  at  the  great  lady's  table, 
Simple  as  I  stand  here ;  and  saw  when  she  kiss'd 

him,  ^  . 

And  would,  at  his  request,  have  kiss'd  me  too ; 
But  I  was  not  so  audacious  as  some  youths  are,'. 
That  dare  do  any  thing,  be  it  ne'er  so  absurd. 
And  sad  after  performance. 

'  But  I  was  not  so  audacji9usy  and  stme  youths  are^^  Mr. 
Dodslej  has, 

But  I  was  not  so  audacious  as  some  youths  arCf 
And  dare  do  any  things  &c. 

I  think  the  old  reading  right.     Coxeter. 

Mr.  M.  Mason  follows  Dodsley.  If  and  be  the  genuine  word^ 
it  is  used  for  the  old  subjunctive  particle  an  (if,)  but  whatever 
be  Its  nature,  it  was  corrected,  at  the  press,  in  somie  of  the 
copies,  as  it  now  stands^  In  the  next  verse,  for.  Andy  which  >raf 
probably  taken,  by  a  common  error,  from  the  word  im^iediateljr 
under  it,  I  have  ventured  to  substitute  That. 


536  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Over.  Why,  thou  rascal ! 
To  tell  me  tnese  impossibilities. 
Dine  at  her  table !  and  kiss  him !  or  thee  I  ■>' 
Impudent  variety  have  not  I  myself, 
To  whom  great  countesses*  doors  have  oft  flew 

open, 
Ten  times  attempted,  since  her  husband's  death, 
In  vain,  to  see  her,  though  I  came—-  a  suitor  ? 
And  yet  your  good  solicitorship,  and  rogue  Well- 

born^ 
Were  brought  into  her  presence,  feasted  with 

her ! 

But  that  I  know  thee  a  dog  that  cannot  blush, 
This  most  incredible  lie  would  call  up  oue, 
On  thy  buttermilk  cheeks. 

Mar.  Shall  I  not  trust  my  eyes,  sir, 
Or  taste  ?  I  feel  her  good  cheer  in  my  belly. 
Over.  You  shall  feel  me,  if  you  give  not  over, 
sirrah : 
Recover  your  brains  again,  and  be  no  more  guU'd 
With  a  beggar's  plot,  assisted  by  the  aids 
Of  serving-men  and  chambermaids,  for  beyond 

these 
Thoi;  never  saw'st  a  woman,  or  I'll  quit  you 
From  my  employments. 

Mar.  Will  you  credit  this  yet? 
On  ray  confidence  of  their,  marriage,  I  offer'd 

Wellborn- — 
I  would  give  a  crown  now  I  durst  say  his  wor- 
ship   "  [Aside. 

My  nag,  and  twenty  pounds. 

Over.  Did  you  so,  ideot !       [Strikes  him  dawn. 
Was  this  the  way  to  work  him  to  despair, 
Or  rather  to  cross  me  ? 
Afan  Will  your  worship  kill  roe  ? 
Over.  No,  no;  but  drive  the  lying  spirit  out 
of  you. 


s/ 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  537 

Mar.  He's  gone. 

Over.  I  have  done  then :  now,  forgetting 
Your  late  imaginary  feast  and  lady, 
Know,  my  lord  Lovell  dines- with  me  to  morrow* 
Be  careful  nought  be  wanting  to  receive  him ; 
And  bid  my  daughter's  women  trim  her  up, 
TlK)ugh  they  paint  her,  so  she  catch  the  lord,  Til 

thank  them : 
There's  a  piece  for  my  late  blonds. 

Mar.  I  must  yet  suffer : 
But  there  may  be  a  time —  iAside* 

Over.  Do  you  grumble  ? 

Mar.  No,  sir.  \Exeunt. 


I. 


ACT  III.    SCENE  I. 


The  Country  near  Overreach's  Housci 
Enter  Lord  Lovell,  Allworth,  arid  Servants. 

Lov.  Walk  the  horses  down  the  hill;  some- 
thing in  private 
I  must  impart  to  Allworth.      [Exeunt  Servants.^ 

All.  O,  my  lord. 
What  sacrifice  of  reverence,  duty,  watching, 
Although  I  could  put  off  the  use  of  sleep. 
And  ever  wait  on  your  commands  to  serve  them; 
What  dangers,  though  in  ne'er  so  horrid  shapes, 
Nay  death  itself,  though  I  should  run  to  meet  it, 

*  Exeunt  SerfantsO  Exeunt  Servi^  says  the  qoarto;  tbii 
Coxeter  translates  Exeunt  Servant^  and  is  niithfallj  followed  bjr 
Mr.  M.  Mason  in  his  correctest  of  all  editions ! 


538  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS; 

Can  I,  and  with  a  thankful  willingness,  suffer; 
But  still  the  retribution  will  fall  short 
Of  your  bounties  showcr'd  upon  tfle  ? 

£ov.  Loving  youth ; 
Till  what  I  purpose  be  put  into.act. 
Do  not  o'erpize  it;  since  you  have  trusted  me 
With  your  soul's  nearest,  nay,  her  dearest  secret^ 
Rest  confident  'tis  in  a  cabinet  lock'd 
Treachery  shall  never  open.  ..  I  have  found  you 
(For  so  much  to  your  face  I  must  profess, 
However  you  guard  your  modesty  with  a  blush 

for't) 
More  zealous  in  your  love  and  service  to  me, 
Than  I  have  been  in  my  rewards. 

All.  Still  great  ones, 
Above  my  merit. 

Lov.  Such  your  gratitude  calls  them : 
Nor  am  I  of  that  harsh  and  rugged  temper 
As  some  great  men  are  tax*d  with,  who  imagine 
They  part  from  the  respect  due  to  their  honours, 
If  they  use  not  all  such  as  follow  them. 
Without  distinction  of  their  births,  like  slaves. 
I  I  am  not  so  conditioned  :  I  can  make 
A  fitting  difference  between  my  footboy. 
And  a  gentleman  by  want  compell'd  to  serve  me. 

AIL  'Tis  thankfully  acknowledged ;  you  have 
been 
More  like  a  father  to  me  than  a  master: 
Pray  you,  pardon  the  comparison. 

JLov.  I  allow  it ; 
And  to  give  you  assurance  I  am  pleased  in't, 
My  carriage  and  demeanour  to  your  mistress. 
Fair  Margaret,  shall  truly  witness  for  me, 
I  can  command  my  passions. 

AIL  'Tls  a  conquest 
Few  lords  can  boast  of  when  they  are  tempted* 
— Ohl 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.   539 

'Lov.  Wht  do- you  sigh?  can  you  be  doubtful 
of  me? 
By  that  fair  name  I  in  the  wars  have  purchasedi 
And  all  my  actions,  hitherto  untainted, 
I  will  not  be  more  true  to  mine  own  honour, 
Than  to  my  Allworth  ! 

AIL  As  you  are  the  brave  lord  Lovell, 
Your  bare  word  only  given  is  an  as3urance 
Of  fnore  validilv  and  weiiiht  to  me, 
Than  all  the  oaths,  bound  up  with  imprecations. 
Which,  when  they  would  deceive,  most  courtiers 

practise: 
Yet  being  a  man,  (for,  sure,  to  style  you  more  ' 
Would  relish  of  gross  flattery,)  I  am  forced, 
Against  my  confidence  of  your  worth  and  virtues, 
To  doubt,  nay  more,  to  fear. 

XiOV.  So  young,  and  jealous  ! 

AIL  Were  you  to  encounter  with  a  single  foe,' 
The  victory  were  certain  ;  but  to  stand 
The  charge  of  two  such  potent  enemies, 
At  once  assualting  you,  as  wealth  and  beauty, 
And  those  too  seconded  with  power,  is  odds    . 
Too  great  for  Hercules. 

Lov.  Speak  your  doubts  and  fears. 
Since  you  will  nourish  them,  in  plainer  language. 
That  I  may  understand  them. 

AIL  What's  your  will,  "1 

Though  I  lend  arms  against  myself^  (provided 
They  may  advantage  you,)  must  be  obeyVI. 
My  much-loved  lord,  were  Margaret  only  fair. 
The  cannon  of  her  more  than  earthly  tbrm, 
Though  mounted  high,  commanding  all  beneath 

it,  ^ 

And  ramm'd  with  bullets  of  her  sparkling  eyes,- 
Of  all  the  bulwarks  that  defend  your  senses 
Could  batter  none,  but  that  which  guards  your 

sight. 


540  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS, 

But  wh«n  the  welUtuned  accents  of  her  tongue 
Make  music  to  you,  and  with  numerous  sounds 
Assault  your  hearing,  (such  as  Ulysses,  if  [he] 
Now  lived  again/  howe'er  he  stood  the  Syrens, 
Could  not  resist,)  the  combat  must  grow  doubtful 
Between  your  reason  and  rebellious  passions. 
Add  this  too;   when  you  feel  her  touch,  and 

breath 
Like  a  soft  western  wind,  when  it  glides  o'er 
Arabia,  creating  gums  and  spices ; 
Ami  in  the  van,  tne  nectar  of  her  lips, 
Which  you  must  taste,  bring  the  battalia  on^ 
Well  arm'd,  and  strongly  lined  with  her  discourse, 
And  knowing  manners;^  to  give  entertainment; — 
Hippolytus  himself  would  leave  Diana, 
\^To  follow  such  a  Venus. 

L(yo.  Love  hath  made  you 
Poetical,  AUworth. 

AIL  Grant  all  these  beat  off, 
Which  if  it  be  in  man  to  do,  you'll  do  it. 
Mammon,  in  sir  Giles  Overreach,  steps  in 
With  heaps  of  ill-got  gold,  and  so  much  land, 
To  make  tier  more  remarkable,  as  would  tire 
A  falcon's  wings  in  one  day  to  fly  over. 
O  my  good  lord !   these  powerful  aids,  which 

would 
Make  a  mis-shapen  negro  beautiful, 
(Yet  are  but  ornaments  to  give  her  lustre, 
That  in  herself  is  all  perfection,)  must 


{wch  as  UIff$ie$y  S^[he] 


N<m  lived  again^  &c.]  As  this  passage  stands  in  the  former 
editions  it  ii  scarcely  reconcileable  either  to  grammar  or  senae. 
I  ha? e  hazarded  the  transpoiritlon  of  one  word  (If)  and  the  addU 
tion  of  another,  he.  For  the  ibrmer,  I  makfi  na  apology,  as  the 
incorrect  state  of  the  old  copies  frequently  renders  it  necessary; 
for  the  latter,  I  solicit  the  reader's  indulgence.  Much  of  this 
speech  is  pure  bombast,  and  the  whole  of  it  in  Tery  bad  taste* 
It  might  Iwte  been  put  into  the  mouth  of  Harlothrumbo. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  541 

Prevail  for  her:  I  here  release  your  trust; 
/  'Ti«  happiness,  enough,  for  me  to  serve  you, 
And  sometimes^  with  chaste  eyes,  to  look  upon 
her. 

Lov.  Why,  shall  I  swear  ? 

AU.  Oi  by  no  means,  my  lord ; 
And  wrong  not  so  your  judgment  to  the  world, 
As  from  your  fond  indulgence  to  a  boy, 
Your  page,  your  servant,  to  refuse  a  blessing 
Divers  great  men  are  rivals  for. 

Lav.  Suspend 
Your  judgment  till  the  trial.     How  far  is  it 
To  Overreach'  house  ? 

AIL  At  the  most,  some  half  hour's  riding; 
You'll  soon  be  there. 

Ijyo.  And  you  the  sooper  freed 
From  your  jealous  fears. 

AIL  O  that  I  durst  but  hope  it !  [Ejceunt. 


SCENE    II. 

A  Room  in  Overreach's  House. 

Enter  Overreach,  Greedy,  and  Marrall. 

Over.  Spare  for  no  cost;  let  my  dressers  crack 
witn  the  weight 
Of  curious  viands. 

Greedy.  Store  indeed* s  no  sore^  sir. 
Over.  That  proverb  fits  your  stomach,  master 
Greedy. 
And  let  no  plate  be  seen  but  what's  pure  gold, 
Or    such    whose    workmanship    exceeds .  the 

matter 
That  it  is  made  of;  let  my  choicest  linen 
Perfume  the  room,  and,  when  we  wash,  the  water. 


542  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

With  precious  powders  mix'd,  so  please  my  lord^ 
That  he  may'  with  envy  wish  to  bathe  so  ever. 

Mar.  '1  will  be  very  chargeable. 

Over.  Avaunt,  you  drudge ! 
Now  all  my  lahourM  ends  are  at  the  stake, 
Is't  a  tjme  to  think  of  thrift?  Call  in  my  daugh- 
ter. [Exit  Marrall. 
And,  master  justice,  since  you  love  choice  dishes^ 
And  plenty  of  them — • — 

Greedy.  As  I  do,  indeed,  sir, 
Almost  as  much  as  to  give  thanks  for  them. 

Over.  I  do  confer  that  providence,'  w^ith  my 
power 
Of  absolute  command  to-have  abundance, 
To  your  best  care. 

Greedy.  I'll  punctually  discharge  it, 
And  give  the  best  directions.     Now  am  I, 
In  mine  own  conceit,  a  monarch ;  at  the  least, 


let  my  choicest  linen 


Perfume  the  room,  and^  when  we  washy  the  water^ 
With  precious  powders  mix'd,  so  please  rny  lord^ 
That  he  may^  &c.]  Sach  is  the  reading  of  the  qaarto.  Coze- 
ier,  vho  probably  misonderstood  it,  adapted  it  to  his  own  ideas 
in  this  perverse  and  rapid  manner,  and  was,  of  course,  followed 
by  Mr.  M.  Mason : 

■  Lay  my  choicest  linen^ 

Terfume  the  room,  and  when  we  wash,  the  water 
With  precious  powders  mix,  to  please  my  lord. 
That  he  may,  &c. 

9  I  do  confer  that  providence,]  All  the  modern  editors  read, 
that  province:  and  thus  they  keep  up  an  eternal  war  against 
their  author's  fancied  peculiarities! — but  indeed  the  word  is 
used  by  other  writers,  and  precisely  in  the  sense  here  required. 
Thus  Shirley  in  a  very  pretty  passage: 

^^  Lady,  you  are  welcome  to  the  spring;  the  park 

^'  Looks  fresher  to  salute  you:  how  the  birds  > 

**  On  every  tree  sing  with  more  cheerfulness 

*'  At  your  access,  as  if  they  prophesied 

*^  Nature  would  die,  and  resign  her  providence 

"  To  you,  £t  to  succeed  her  I"  Hyde  Park. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  545 

Arch -president  of  the  boird,  the  roa^t,  the  baked, 
For  which  I  will  eat  often ;  and  give  thanks 
When  my  belly's  braced  up  like  a  drum,  and 

that's  pure  justice.  [£*riV. 

Over.  It  must  be  so : — should  the  foolish  girl 

prove  modesty 
She  may  spoirall ;  she  had  it  not  from  me. 
But  from  her  mother ;  I  was  ever  forward, 
As  she  must  be,  and  therefore  Fll  prepare  her.  . 

4MMV  ' 

JEnter  Margaret. 

Alone— and  let  your  women  wait  without. 

Marg.  Your  pleasure,  sir? 

Over.  Ha  !  this  is  a  neat  dressing  ! 
These  orient  .pearls  and  diamonds  well  placed 

too ! 
The  gown  affects  me  not,  it  should  have  been 
Embroidered  o'er  and  o'er  with  flowers  of  gold ; 
But  these  rich  jewelsy'knd  quaint  fashion  help  it« 
And  how  below?  since  oft  the  wanton  eye, 
The  face  observed,  descends  iinto  the  foot, 
Which  being  well  proportion'd,  as  yours  is. 
Invites  as  much  as  perfect  white  and  red, 
Though  without  art.    How  like  you  your  new 

woman. 
The  lady  Downfallen  ? 

Marg.  Well,  for  a  companion ; ' 
Not  as  a  servant. 

Over.  Is  she  humble,  Meg, 
And  careful  too,  her  ladyship  forgotten? 

Marg.  I  pity  her  fortune. 

Over.  Pity  her  !  trample  on  her. 
J  took  her  up  in  an  old  tamin  gown,*. 

•  «  ^ 

'  I  took  her  np  in  an  old  tamin  gonm,]  Dodsley  and  Cozeler 
(Mr.  M.  Mason  only  ^^.  follows  as  a  hoand  that  fills  up  the 
cry")  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  this  word,  changed  it  with* 


544  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

(Even  starvM  for  want  of  twopenny  chops,)  to 

serve  thee, 
And  if  I  understand  she  but  repines 
To  do  thee  any  duty,  though  ne'er  so  servile, 
I'll  pack  her  to  her  knight,  where  I  have  lodged 

him, 
Into  the  counter,  and  there  let  them  Ubwl  together. 
Marg.  You  know  your  own  ways;  but  forme, 
I  blush 
When  I  command  her,  that  was  once  attended 
/  With  persons  not  inferior  to  myself, 
In  birth. 

Over.  In  birth !  why,  art  thou  not  my  daughter, 
The  blest  child  of  my  industry  and  wealth? 
Why,  foolish  girl,  was't  not  to  make  thee  great, 
That  I  have  run,  and  still  pursue,  those  way» 
That  hale  down  curses  on  me,  which  I  mind  not ! 
Part  with  these  humble  thoughts,  and  apt  thyserf 
To  the  noble  state  I  laboqf  to  advance  thee ; 
Or,  by  my  hopes  to  see  thee  honottrablCy 
I  will  adopt  a  stranger  to  my  heir, 
And  throw  thee  from  my  care :  do  not  provoke  me. 
Marg.  I  will  not,  sir;  mould  me  which  way 
you  please. 

Re-enter  Greedy. 

Over.  How  !  interrupted ! 
Greedy.  'Tis  matter  of  importance* 
The  cook,  sir,  is  self-will'd,  and  will  not. learn 

out  ceremony  into  tatter'df  nay,  withdvt  (iondesccnding  to 
notice  the  variatiOB !  Bot  tamin  is  undoubtedly  right ;  it  is  a 
coarse  linseywoolsey  stuff,  still  worn  by  the  poor  of  thl&  coun* 
try  under  the  name  of  taminy  or  rather  tammy;  a  corniptioii,  I 
suppose^  of  itamine^  Fr.  which  has  the  same  meaning.  DaTe* 
muit^  Ja  one  of  his  epigrant,  tells  us  that  St.  I^artin's  doak  Was 
mads  of  tammL  The  annals  of  literature  do  not  aflbrd  an 
iMtenoeof  aaothar  writavi  so  naworlhtiy  treated  as  Massingen 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  544 

From  iriy  experience :  there's  a  fawH  brought  in, 

sir, 
And,  for  my  life,  I  cannot  make  him  roast  it 
With  a  Norfolk  dumpling  in  ihe  belly  6f  it; 
And,  sir,  we  wise  men  know,  without  thedumpling 
'Tis  not  worth  three-pence. 
^      Over.  Would  it  were  whole  in  thy  belly, 
*  To  stuff  it  out !  cook  it  any  way ;  prithee,  leave 
me. 
Greedy.  Without  order  for  the  dumpling  ? 
Over^  Let  it  be  d  urn  pled 
Which  way  thou  wilt ;  or  tell  him,  X  will  scald  him 
In  his  own  caldron. 

Greedy.  I  had  lost  my  stomach 
Had  I  lost  my  mistress  dumpling;  Til  give  tlianks 
for't.  ,  [Exit. 

Cher.  But  to  our  business,  Meg;  you  have 

heard  who  dines  here  ? 
Marg.  I  have,  sir. 
Over.  Tis  an  honourable  man ; 
A  lord,  Meg,  and  commands  a  regiment 
Of  soldiers,  and,  what's  rare,  is  ot^e  himself, 
A  bold  and  understanding  one; :  and  to  be 
A  lord,  and  a  good  leader,  in  one  volume^ 
Is  granted  unto  few  but  such  as  rise  up 
The  kingdom's  glory. 

Re-enter  Greedy. 

Greedy.  I'll  resign  my.  office. 
If  I  be  not  better  obeyed. 

Over.  'Slight)  art  thou  frantic  ? 

Greedyp  Frantic!   'twould  make  me  frantic, 
and  stark  mad. 
Were  I  not  a  justice  of  peace  and  quorum  too. 
Which  this  rebellious  cook  cares  not  a^traw  for. 
There  are  a  dozen  of  woodcooks< 


>   ' 


546  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

'  ■ 

Over.  Make  thyself 
Thirteen,  the  baker's  dozen. 

Greedy.  I  am  contented, 
So  they  may  be  dress'd  to  my  mind ;  he  has  found 

out 
A  new  device  for  sauce,  and  will  not  dish  them 
With  toasts  and  butter ;  my  father  was  a  tailor. 
And  my  name,  though  a  justice,  Greedy  Wood- 
cock ; 
And,  ere  I'll  see  my  lineage  so  abused, 
I'll  give  up  my  commission. 

Over,  [aloud.'l  Cook ! — Rogue,  obey  him  ! 
I  have  given  the  word,  pray  you  now  remove 

yourself 
To  a  collar  of  brawn,  and  trouble  me  no  further. 
Greedy.  I  will,  and  meditate  what  to  eat  at 
dinner.  [Esit. 

Over.  And  as  I  said,  Meg,  when  this  gull  dis* 
turb'd  us, 
This  honourable  lord,  this  colonel, 
I  would  have  thy  husband. 

Marg.  There's  too  much  disparity 
Between  his  quality  and  mine,  to  hope  it. 

Over.  I  more  than  hope,  and  doubt  not  to  effect 
it,. 
Be  thou  no  enemy  to  thyself;  my  wealth 
^   Shall  weigh  his  titles  down,  and  make  you  equals. 
Now  forthe  means  to  assure  him  thine,  observe  me ; 
Remember  he's  a  courtier,  and  a  soldier. 
And  not  to  be  trifled  with ;  and,  therefore,  when 
He  comes  to  woo  you,  see  you  do  not  coy  it:   « 
This  mincing  modesty  has  spoil'd  many  a  match 
By  a  first  retusal,  in  vain  after  hoped  for. 
Marg.  You'll  have  me,  sir,  preserve  thedistance 
that 
\  Confines  a  virgin  ? 
j     Over,  Virgin  me  no  virgins  f 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  54,7 

I  miist  have  you  lose  that  name,  or  you  lose  me* 
I  will  have  you  private — start  not — I  say,  private : 
If  thou  art  my  true  daughter,  not  a  bastard, 
Thou  wilt  venture  alone  with  one  man,  though 

he  came 
Like  Jupiter  to  Semele,  and  come  off  too ; 
And  therefore,  M'hen  he  kisses  you,  kiss  close. 

Marg.  I  have   heard   this  is  the  strumpets' 
fashion,  sir, 
Which  I  must  never  learn. 

Over.  Learn  any  thing. 
And  from  any  creature  that  may  make  thee  great; 
From  the  devil  himself. 

Marg.  This  is  but  devilish  doctrine  !     [Aside. 

Over.  Or,  if  his  blood  grow  hot,  suppose  he  offer 
Beyond  this,  do  not  you  stay  till  it  cool, . 
But  meet  his  ardour;  if  a  couch  be  near, 
Sit  down  on't,  and  invite  him. 

Marg.  In  your  house, 
Your  own  house,  sir !  for  heaven's  sake,  what  are 

you  then  ? 
Or  what  shall  I  be,  sir  ? 

Over.  Stand  not  on  forpi ; 
Words  are  no  substances, 

Marg.  Though  you  could  dispense 
With  your  own  honour,  cast  aside  religion, 
The  hopes  of  heaven,  or  fear  of  hell ;  excuse  me, 
In  worldly  policy,  this  is  not  the  way 
To  make  me  his  wife ;  his  whore,  I  grant  it  may  do. 
My  maiden  honour  so  soon  yielded  up. 
Nay,  prostituted,  cannot  but  assure  him 
I,  that  am  light  to  him,  will  not  hold  weight 
Whene'er*  tempted  by  others:  so,  in  judgment, 

« 

*  Whene'er  tempted  hy  others:']  The  qaarto  reads.  When  he 
is  tempted^  &c.  This  is  evidently  wrong,  but  I  am  not  sure  that 
I  have  struck  out  the  genuine  reading.    Dodslej,  whom  th« 


54«  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

When  to  his  lust  I  have  given  np  my  honour. 
He  must  and  will  forsake  me. 
Over.  How !  forsake  thee  ! 
Do  I  wear  a  sword  for  fashion  ?  or  is  this  arm 
Shrunk  up,  or  witherM  ?  does  there  live  a  man 
Of  that  large  list  I  have  encountered  with. 
Can  truly  say  I  e'er  ^ave  inch  of  ground 
Not  purchased  with  his  blood  that  did  oppose  me  ? 
Forsake  thee  when  the  thing  is  done  !  he  dares 

not.  ' 

Give  me  but  proof  he  has  enjoyed  thy  person, 
Though  all  his  captains,  echoes  to  his  will. 
Stood  arm'd  by  his  side  to  justify  the  wrong. 
And  he  himself  in  the  head  of  his  bold  troop. 
Spite  of  his  lordship,  and  his  coloneLship, 
Or  the  judge's  favour,  I  will  make  him  render 
A  bloody  and  a  strict  accompt,  and  force  him, 
By  marrying  thee,  to  cure  thy  wounded  honour ! 
1  have  said  it. 

Re-enter  Marrall. 

Mar.  Sir,  the  man  of  honour's  come, 
Newly  alighted. 

Over.  In,  without  reply ;,  ^ 
And  do  as  I  command,  or  thou  art  lost. 

[E.vit  Margaret. 
Is  the  loud  music  I  gave  order  for 
Ready  to  receive  him  ? 

Mar.  'Tis,  sir. 

Over.  Let  them  sound 
A  princely  welcome.  [Ea^it  Marrall.']  Roughness 

awhile  leave  me ; 
For  fawning  now,  a  stranger  to  my  nature, 
Must  make  way  for  me. 

others  follow,  ooiits  he  m,  which  leanres  a  very  inhannonioui 
line :  nor,  indeed^  can  much  be  said  for  the  melodj  of  mine. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  549 


Loud  music.    Enter  Lord  Lovell,  Greedy^ 
Allworth,  tf/Mf  Marrall. 

Lav.  Sir,  you  meet  your  trouble. 
Over.  What  you  are  pleased  to  style  sOj  is  au 
honour 
Above  my  worth  and  fortune^. 

All.  Strange  !  so  humble.  \Aside. 

Over.  A  justice  of  peace,  my  lord. 

[Presents  Greedy  to  him. 
Lav.  Your  hand,  goqd  sir. 
Greeibf.  This  is  a  lord,  and  some  think  this  a 
favour ; 
But  I  had  rather  have  my  hand  in  my  dumpling. 

[Aside. 
Over.  Room  for  my  lord. 
Lov.  I  miss,  sir,  your  fair  daughter 
To  crown  my  welcome. 

Over.  May  it  please  my  lord 
To  taste  a  glass  of  Greek  wine  first,  and  suddenly 
She  shall  attend  my  lord. 
Lov.  You'll  be  obeyM,  sir. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Overreach. 
Over.  'Tis  to  my  wish :  as  soou  as  come,  ask  for 
her  1 
Why,  Meg  !  Meg  Overreach . — 

Rc'^enter  Margaret. 

How  !  tears  in  your  eyes  ! 
Hah  1  dry  them  quickly,  or  I'll  dig  them  out. 
Is  this  a  time  to  whimper  ?  meet  tnat  greatness 
That  flies  into  thy  bosom,  think  what  'tis 
For  me  to  say,  My  honourable  daughter ; 
And  thou,  when  I  stand  bare,  to  say,  Put  oa;^ 


VOL.  III.  •  O  o 


Pti^  {m;"]  I.  e.  be  covered. 


550  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Or,  Father,  you  forget  yourself.     Nb  more. 
But  be  instructed,  or  expect ^he  comes  . 

Re-enter  Lord  LovELLy  Greedy,  Allvorth,  and 

Marrall. 

A  black-brow*d  girl,  my  lord. 

[Lord  Lovell  salutes  Margaret. 

L<yo.  As  I  live,  a  rare  one. 

All.  He's  ta*en  already  :  I  am  lost         {Aside. 

Over.  That  kiss 
Came  twanging  off,  I  like  it ;  quit  the  room. 

yExeunt  all  but  Over.  Lffo.  and  Marg. 
A  little  bashful,  my  good  lord,  but  you, 
I  hope,  will  teach  her  boldness. 

-  L(W.  I  am  happy 
In  such  a  scholar :  but  - 

Over.  I  am  past  learning, 
And  therefore  leave  you  to  yourselves  : — remem- 
ber. [Aside  to  Margaret,  and  ejnt. 

Lov.  You  see,  fair  lady,  your  father  is  solicitous. 
To  have  you  change  the  barren  name  of  virgin 
Into  a  hopeful  wife. 

Marg.  His  haste,  my  lord. 
Holds  no  power  o'er  my  will.- 

Lov.  But  o'er  your  duty. 

Marg.  Which^  forced  too  njuch,  may  break. 

Lov.  Bend  rather,  sweetest : 
Think  of  your  years. 

Marg.  Too  lew  to  match  with  yours ; 
And  choicest  fruits  too  soon  plucked,  rot  and 
wither. 

Lov.  Do  you  think  I  am  old  ? 

Marg.  I  am  sure  I  am  too  young. ' 

Lov.  I  can  advance  you. 

Marg.  To  a  hill  of  sorrow; 
Where  every  hour  I  may  expect  to  fall, 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  551 

But  never  hbpe  firm  footing.    You  are  noble, 
I  of  a  low  descent,  however  rich ; 
And  tissues  match'd  with  scarlet  suit  but  ill. 
I  O,  my  good  lord,  I  could  say  more,  but  that 
I  dare  not  trust  these  walls. 

Lov.  Pray  you,  trust  my  ear  then. 

Re-enter  Overreach  behind^  listening. 

Over.  Close  at  it!  whispering!  this  is  excellent! 
And,  by  their  postures,  a  consent  on  both  parts. 

Re-enter  Greedy  behind. 

Greedy.  Sir  Giles,  sir  Giles  I 

Over.  The  great  fiend  stop  that  clapper ! 

Greedy.  It  must  ring  out,  sir,  when  my  belly 

rings  noon. 
The  baked-meats  are  run  out,  the  roast  turn'd 

powder. 
Over.  I  shall  powder  you. 
Greedy.  Beat  me  to. dust,  I  cate  not; 
In  such  a  cause  as  this,  I'll  die  a  martyr. 

Over.  Marry,  and  shall,  you  barathrum  of  the 

shambles  !^  [Strikes  him. 

Greedy.  How  !  strike  a  justice  of  peace  !  'tis 

petty  treason, 

•^  Over.  Marry^  and  shaU^  you  barathrum  of  the  shambles !] 
Literally  from  Horace : 

Pernicies  et  tcmpestas^  barathmmque  macelli ! 

Barathrum  is  freqaentlj  used  by  our  old  poets  in  the  classical 
sense  of  an  abyss,  or  devouring  gulf:  Thus  Shirley, 

^^  You  come  to  scour  your -maw  with  the  good  cheer 

^^  Which  will  be  damp'd  in  your  lean  barathrum^ 

^'  That  kitchen.stu£f  devourer !"  The  Wedding. 

Massingcr  has  taken  a  few  traits  of  the  character  of  his  jus* 
tice  from  Pasilipho,  in  the  old  comedy  of  the  Supposa. 

*Oo2 


552  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Edwardi  qumio :  but  that  you  are  my  friend, 
1  would  commit  you  without  bail  or  mainprize. 

Over.  Leave  your  bawling,  sir,  or  1  shall  com- 
mit you 
Where  you  shall  not  dine  to  day :  disturb  my  lord, 
When  ne  is  in  discourse ! 

Greedy.  Is't  a  time  to  talk 
When  we  should  be  munching? 

Lov.  Hah  !  I  heard  some  noise. 

Over.  Mum,  villain ;  vanish !  shall  we  break  a 
bargain 
Almost  made  up  ?  [Thrusts  Greedy  off. 

Lov.  Lady,  I  understand  you. 
And  rest  most  happy  in  your  choice,  believe  it ; 
I'll  be  a  careful  pilot  to  direct 
Your  yet  uncertain  bark  to  a  port  of  safety, 

Marg.  So  shall  your  honour  save  two  lives, 
and  bind  us 
Your  slaves  for  even 

LoH).  I  am  in  the  act  rewarded, 
Since  it  is  good ;  howe'er,  you  must  put  on 
An  amorous  carriage  towards  me,  to  delude 
Your  subtle  father. 

Marg.  I  am  prone  to  that. 

Lw.  Now  break  we  off  our  conference.— rSir 
Giles ) 
Where  is  sir  Giles  ?       [Overreach  comes  forward. 

"   Re-enter  Allwobth,  Ma&rall,  and  Gresdt. 

Over.  My  noble  lord ;  and  how 
Does  your  lordship  find  her? 

Lov.  Apt,  sir  Giles,  and  coming ; 
And  I  like  her  the  better. 

Over.  So  do  I  too. 

Lov.  Yet  bhould  we  take  forts  at  the  first  assault, 
'Twere  poor  in  the  defendant;  I  must  confirm  her 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  553 

With  a  love-letter  or  two,  which  I  must  have 
Delivered  by  my  page,  and  you  give  way  to't. 

Cher.  With  all  my  soul : — a  towardly  gentleman! 
Your  hand,  good  master  All  worth;  knowmy  house 
Is  ever  open  to  you. 

All.  Twas  shut  till  now.  [Aside. 

Over.  Well  done,  well  done,  my  honourable 
daughter ! 
ThouVt  so  already :  know  this  gentle  youth, 
And  cherish  him,  my  honourable  daughter. 

Marg.  I  shall,  with  ray  best  care. 

[Noise  within^  as  of  a  coach. 

Over.  A  coach ! 

Greedy.  More  stops 
Before  we  go  to  dinner !  O  my  guts ! 

Mnter  Lady  Allworth  and  Wellborn. 

L.  All.  I£J  find  welcome. 
You  share  ia  it ;  if  not,  V\\  back  again. 
Now  I  know  your  ends ;  for  I  come  arm'd  for  all 
Can  be  objected. 

Lw.  How  !  the  lady  Allworth  ! 

Over.  And  thus  attended  ! 
[Lovell  salutes  Lady  Allworth^  Lady  Alkoorth 
salutes  Margaret. 

Mar.  No,  I  am  a  dolt  f 
The  spirit  of  lies  hath  enter'* d  me  t 

Over.  Peace,  Patch;* 
TTis  more  than  wonder !  an  astonishment 
That  does  possess  me  wholly  1 

Lc^.  Noble  lady, 

^  OTer.  Peachy  Patch;]  Patch  was  the  cant  name  of  a/oo/ 
kept  by  cardinal  Wolsey,  and  who  has  had  the  honoar  of  trans- 
mitting his  appellation  to  a  very  numeroas  bodj  of  descendants : 
he  being,  as  Wilson  obserres  in  his  Jrt  ofRhetorique^  1553^  ^^  a 
notable  fool  ia  his  tine.'' 


554  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

This  is  a  favour,  to  prevent*  my  visit, 
The  service  of  my  life  can  never  equal. 

Z.  AIL  My  lord,  I  laid  wait  for  you,  and  much 
hoped 
You  would  have  made  my  poor  house  your  first  inn: 
And  therefore  doubting  that  you  might  forget  me. 
Or  too  long  dwell  here,  having  such  ample  cause. 
In  this  unequaird  beauty,  for  your  stay ; 
And  fearing  to  trust  any  but  myself 
With  the  relation  of  my  service  to  you, 
I  borrow'd  so  much  from  my  long  restraint, 
And  took  the  air  in  person  to  invite  you. 

Lw.  Your  bounties  are  so  great,  they  rob  me, 
madam, 
Of  words  to  give  you  thanks. 

L.  AIL  Good  sir  Giles  Overreach.  [Salutes  him. 
— How  dost  thou,  Marrall  ?  liked  you  my  meat 

so  ill. 
You'll  dine  no  more,  with  me? 

Greedy.  I  will,  when  you  please. 
An  it  like  your  ladyship. 

Z.  AIL  When  you  please,  master  Greedy ; 
If  meat  can.  do  'it,  you  shall  be  satisfied. 
And  now,  my  lord,  pray  take  into  your  knowledge 
This  gentleman ;  howe'er  his  outsiders  coarse, 

[Presents  Wellborn. 
His  inward  linings  are  as  fine  and  fair 
As  any  man's ;  wonder  not  I  speak  at  large : 
And  howsoe'er  his  humour  carries  him 
To  be  thus  accoutred,  or  what  taint  soever. 
For  bis  wild  life,  hath  stuck  upon  his  fame^ 
He  may,  ere  long,  with  boldness,  rank  himself 
With  some  that  nave  contemn'd  him.     Sir  Giles 

Overreach, 
If  I  am  welcome,  bid  him  so. 


to  preveDt  my  visity'}  L  e.  to  anticipate  it 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  555 

Over.  My  nephew ! 
He  has  be^n  too  long  a  stranger :  faith  you  have. 
Pray  let  it  be  mended. 

[Lavell  confers  aside  with  Wellborn. 

Mar.  Why,  sir,  what  do  you  mean? 
This  is  rogue  JVelWorny  ifionster,  prodigy. 
Thai  should  hang  or  drown  himself;  no  man  of 

worship, 
Much  less  your  nephew. 

Over.  Well,  sirrah,  we  shall  reckon 
For  this  hereafter. 

Mar.  I'll  not  lose'my  ieer. 
Though  I  be  beaten  dead  for!t* 

JVell.  Let  my  silence  plead 
In  my  excuse,  my  lord,  till  better  leisure 
Offer  itself  to  hear  a  full  relation 
Of  my  poor  fortunes. 

Lov.  I  would  hear,  and  help  them. 

Over.  Your  dinner  waits  you. 

Lov.  Pray  you  lead,  we  follow. 

L.  All.  Nay,  you  are  liiy  guest ;  come,  dear 
master  Wellborn.  [Exeunt  all  but  Greedy. 

Greedy.  Dear  master  Wellborn  !  So  she  said : 

heaven  1  heaven  f 

If  my  belly  would  give  me  leave,!  could  ruminate 

All  day  on  this :  I  have  granted  twenty  warrants 

To  have  him  committed,  from  all  prisons  in  the 

shire, 
To  Nottingham  gaol;    and   now.  Dear  master 

Wellborn  I 
And,  My  good  nephew  t — but  I  play  the  fool 
To  stand  here  prating,  and  forget  my  dinner. 

Re-enter  Marrall. 

Are  they  set,  Marrall  ? 

Mar,  Long  since ;  pray  you  a  word,  sir. 


SS6  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Greedy.  No  wording  now. 

Mar.  In  troth,  I  must;  my  master, 
Knowing  you  are  his  good  friend,  makes  bold 

with  you, 
And  does  entreat  you,  more  guests  being  come  in 
Than  he  expected,  especially  his  nephew, 
The  table  being  full  too,  you  would  excuse  him. 
And  sup  with  him  on  the  cold  meat. 

Greedy.  How !  no  dinner, 
After  all  my  care  ? 

Mar.  'Tis  but  a  penance  for 
A  meal ;  besides,  you  broke  your  fast. 

Greedy.  That  was 
But  a  bit  to  stay  my  stomach :  a  man  incommbsion^ 
Give  place  to  a  tatterdemalion  ! 

Mar.  No  bug'  words,  sir; 
Should  his  worship  hear  you 

Greedy.  Lose  my  dumpling  too. 
And  butter'd  toasts,  and  woodcocks ! 

Mar.  Come,  have  patience. 
If  you  will  dispense  a  little  with  your  worship. 
And  sit  with  the  waiting  women,  you'll  have 

dumpling, 
Woodcock,  and  butter'd  toasts  too. 

Greedy.  This  revives  me : 
I  will  gor^e  there  sufficiently*  ^ 

Mar.  This  is  the  way,  sir.  [Ejceunt. 

7  Mar.  No  bug  xoords^  sir;']  i. e.  no  frightfiil,  terrific  words: 
the  word  occurs  in  this  sense  in  all  oar  old  poets. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  SS7 


SCENE  III. 

Another  Room  in  Overreach's  House. 

Enter  Overreach,  as  from  dinner. 

Over.  She's  caught !  O  women ! — she  neglects 
my  lord, 
And  all  her  compliments  applied  to  Wellborn  I 
The  garments  or  her  widowhood  laid  by, 
She  now  appears  as  glorious  as  the  spring. 
Her  eyes  nx'd  on  him,  in  the  wine  she  drinks, 
He  being  her  pledge,  she  sends  him  burning 

kisses, 
And  sits  on  thorns,  till  she  be  private  with  him. 
She  leaves  my  meat,  to  feed  upon  his  looks ; 
And  if  in  our  discourse  he  be  out  named. 
From  her  a  deep  sigh  follows.    But  why  grieve  I 
At  this  ?  it  makes  for  me ;  if  she  prove  his. 
All  that  is  her's  is  mine,  as  I  will  work  him* 

Enter  Marrall. 

Mar.  Sir,  the  whole  board  is  troubled  at  your 
rising. 

Over.  Nomatter,I'llexcuseit:  prithee, Marrall, 
Watch  an  occasion  to  invite  my  nephew 
To  speak  with  me  in  private. 

Mar.  Who !  the  rogue 
The  lady  scorned  to  look  on? 

Over.  You  arc  a  wag. 

Enter  Lady  Allworth  a;?^  Wellborn. 

Mar.  See,  sir,  she's  come,  and  cannot  be  with* 
out  him* 


558  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.   ' 

L.  AIL  With  your  favour^  sir,  after  a  plenteous 
dinner, 
I  shall  make  bold  to  walk  a  turn  or  two. 
In  vour  r^re  garden. 

Over.  There's  an  arbour  too, 
If  your  ladyship  please  to  use  it. 
L.  AIL  Come,  master  Wellborn. 

[Exeunt  Lady  Allworth  and  WelWom. 
Over*  Grosser  and  grosser !  now  I  believe  the 
poet 
Feign'd  not,  but  was  historical,  when  he  wrote 
Pasiphae  was  enamour'd  of  a  bull: 
This  lady's  lust's  more  monstrous. — My  good  1  ord, 

Enter  Lord  Lovell,  Margaret,  and  the  rest. 

Excuse  my  manners. 

Lov.  There  needs  none,  sir  Giles, 
I  may  ere  long  say  Father,  when  it  pleases 
My  dearest  mistress  to  give  warrant  to  it. 

Over.  She  shall  seal  to  it,  my  lord,  and  make 
me  happy. 

Re-enter  Wellborn  and  Lady  Allworth. 

Marg.  My  lady  is  returned. 
£•  AIL  Provide  my  coach, 
1*11  instantly  away ;  my  thanks,  sir  Giles,. 
For  my  entertainment. 

Over.  Tis  your  nobleness 
To  think  it  such. 

L.  AIL  I  must  do  you  a  further  wrong, 
In  taking  away  your  honourable  guest. 
Lffo.  I  wait  on  you,  madam;  farewell,  good 
sir  Giles. 
'  L.  All.  Good  mistress  Margaret !  nay,  come, 
master  Wellborn, 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  559 

I  must  not  leave-  you  behind ;  in  sooth,  I  must 
not. 

Over.  Rob  me  not,  madam,  of  all  joys  at  once; 
Let  my  nephew  stay  behind :  he  shall  have  my 

coach, 
And,  after  some  small  conference  between  us, 
Soon  overtake  your  ladyship. 

i.  AIL  Stay  not  long,  sir. 

Lov.  This  parting  kiss :  \^Kisses  Margaret.}  you 
shall  every  day  hear  from  me, 
By  my  faithful  page. 

AIL  *Tis  a  service  I  am  proud  of, 

[Exeunt  Lord  Lovelly  Lady  Allworthy  Alh»orth^ 
arid  MarralL 

Over.  Daughter,  toyour  chamber. — \EadtMar^ 
garet.] — ^You  may  wonder,  nephew, 
After  so  long  an  enmity  between  us, 
I  should  desire  your  friendship; 

fVelL  So  I  do,  sir ; 
Tis  strange  to  me. 

Over.  But  I'll  make  it  no  wonder; 
And  what  is  more,  unfold  my  nature  to  you- 
We  worldly  men,  when  we  see  friends,  and  kins- 
men. 
Past  hope  sunk  in  their  fortunes,  lend  no  hand 
To  lift  them  up,  but  rather  set  our  feet 
Upon  their  heads,  to  press  them  to  the  bottom ; 
As,  I  must  yield,  with  you  I  practised  it  : 
But,  now  I  see  you  in.  a  way  to  rise, 
I  can  and  will  assist  you;  this  rich  lady, 
fAnd  I  am  glad  oft)  is  enamour'd  of  you  ; 
*Tis  too  apparent,  nephew. 

tVelL  No  such  thing : 
Compassion  rather,  sir. 

Oven  Well,  in  a  word, 
Because  your  stay  is  short,  I'll  have  you  seen 


560  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  debts: 

No  more  in  this  base  shape ;  nor  shall  she  say, 
She  married  you  like  a  beggar,  or  in  debt. 
fVeU.  He'll  run  into  the  noose,  and  save  my 
labour.  [Aside. 

Ower.  You  have  a  trunk  of  rich  clothes,  not  far 
hence, 
In  pawn;   I  will  redeem  them;   and  that  no 

clamour 
May  taint  your  credit  for  your  petty  debts, 
You  shall  have  a  thousand  pounds  to  cut  them 

off, 
And  go  a  free  man  to  the  wealthy  lady. 
fFelL  This  done,  sir,  out  of  love,  and  no  ends 

else 

Over*  As  it  is,  nephew. 
fFelL  Binds  me  still  your  servant. 
Over.  No  compliments,  you  are  staid  for:  ere 
you  have  supp*d 
You  shall  hear  from  me.    My  coach,  knaves,  for 

my  nephew !   « 
To  morrow  I  will  visit  you* 

fFelL  Here's  an  uncle 
In  a  man's  extremes  I  how  much  they  do  belie 

you, 
That  say  you  are  hard«hearted ! 

Over.  My  deeds,  nephew. 
Shall  speak  my  love ;  what  men  report  I  weigh 
not  [Eaeunt. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLP  DEBTS.  561 


ApT  IV.     SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  Lady  All  worth's  House. 

Enter  Lord  Lovell  and  Allworth. 

Lov.  'Tis  well ;  give  me  itty  cloak ;  I  now  dis-^ 
charge  you 
From  further  service :  mind  your  own  affairs^ 
I  hope  they  will  prove  successful. 

AIL  What  is  blest 
With  your  good  wish,  my  lord,  cannot  but  prosper. 
Let  aftertimes  report,  and  to  your  honour. 
How  much  I  stand  engaged,  for  I  want  language 
To  speak  my  debt;  yet  if  a  tear  or  two 
Of  joy,  for  your  much  goodness,  can  supply 
My  tongue's  defects,  I  could 

LoD.  Nay,  do  not  melt : 
This  ceremonial  thanks  to  me's  superfluous. 

Over,  [within.']  Is  my  lord  stirring? 

Lov.  Tis  he !  oh,  here's  your  letter:  let  him  in. 

Enter  Overreach,  Greedy,  and  Marrall. 

Over.  A  good  day  to  my  lord  ! 

Lav.  You  are  an  early  riser, 
Sir  Giles. 

Over.-  And  reason,  to  attend  your  lordship. 

Lav.  And  you,  too,  master  Greedy,  up  so  soon! 

Greedy.  In  troth,  my  lord,  after  the  sun  is  up, 
I  cannot  sleep,  for  I  have  a  foolish  stomach 
That  croaks  for  breakfast    With  your  lordship's 

favour, 
I  have  a  serious  question  to  demand 
Of  my  worthy  friend  sir  Giles. 

Lav.  Pray  you  usd  your  pleasure. 


562  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Greedy.  How  far,  sir  Giles,  and  pray  you  an- 
swer me 
Upon  your  credit,  hold  you  it  to  be 
From  your  manor-house,   to  this  of  my  lady 
All  worth's  ? 

Over.  Why,  some  four  mile. 

Greedy^  How  !  four  mile,  good  sir  Giles— 
Upon  your  reputation,  think  better ; 
For  if  you  do  abate  but  one  half  quarter 
Of  five,  you  do  yourself  the  greatest  wrong 
That  can  be  in  the  world ;  for  four  miles  riding. 
Could  not  have  raised  so  huge  an  appetite 
As  I  feel  gnawing  on  me. 

Mar.  Whether  you  ride, 
Or  go  afoot,  you  are  that  way  still  provided, 
Ad  it  please  your  worship. 

Over.  How  now,  sirrah  ?  prating 
Before  my  lord !  no  difference !  Go  to  my  nephew, 
See  all  his  debts  discharged,  and  help  his  worship 
To  fit  on  his  rich  suit 

Mar.  I  may  fit  you  too. 
Toss'd  like  a  dog  still !  [Aside^  andeait. 

Lov.  I  have  writ  this  morning 
A  few  lines  to  my  mistress,  your  fair  daughter. 

Over.  'Twill  fire  her,  for  she's  wholly  your's 
already  :— 
Sweet  master  All  worth,  take  my  ring;  'twill  carry 

you 
To  her  presence,  I  dare  warrant  you ;  and  there 

plead 
For  my  good  lord,  if  you  shall  find  occasion. 
That  done,  pray  ride  to  Nottingham,  get  a  license, 
Still  by  this  token.     I'll  have  it  dispatch'd, 
And  suddenly,  my  lord,  that  I  may  say, 
My  honourable,  nay,  right  honourable  daughter. 

Greedy.  Take  my  advice,  young  gentleman, 
get  your  breakfast ; 


i. 

r 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  563 

Tis  unwholesome  to  ride  fasting :  I'll  eat  with 

you, 
And  eat  to  purpose. 

Over.  Some  Fury's  in  that  gut: 
Hungry  again  !  did  you  not  devour,  this  morning, 
A  shield  of  brawn,  and  a  barrel  of  Colchester 
oysters  ? 

Greedy.  Why,  that  was,  sir,  only  to  scour  my 
stomach, 
A  kind  of  a  preparative.     Come,  gentleman, 
I  will  not  have  you  feed  like  the  hangman  of 

Flushing, 
Alone,  while  I  am  here. 

Lov.  Haste  your  return, 

AIL  I  will  not  fail,  my  lord. 

Greedy.  Nor  I,  to  line 
My  Christmas  coffer. 

\Exeunt  Greedy  and  Allworth. 

Over.  To  my  wish;  wc  are  private. 
I  come  not  to  make  offer  with  my  daughter 
A  certain  portion,  that  were  poor  and  trivial : 
In  one  word^  I  pronounce  all  that  is  mine. 
In  lands  or  leases,  ready  coin  or  goods, 
With  her,  my  lord,  comes  to  you ;  nor  shall  you 

have 
One  motive,  to  induce  you  to  believe 
I  live  too  long,  since  every  year  I'll  add 
Something  unto  the  heap,  which  shall  be  your's 
too. 

Lov.  You  are  a  right  kind  father. 

Over.  You  shall  have  reason 
To  think  me  such.     How  do  you  like  this  seat  ? 
It  is  well  wooded,  and  well  water'd,  the  acres 
Fertile  and  rith ;  would  it  not  serve  for  change. 
To  entertain  your  frieods  in  a  summer  progress? 
What  thinks  my  noble  lord  ? 

Lov.  'Tis  a  wholesome  air, 


n 


564  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

And  well  built  pile ;  and  she  that's  mistress  of  it. 
Worthy  the  large  revenue. 

Over.  She  the  mistress  1 
It  may  be  so  for  a  time :  ^but  let  my  lord 
Say  only-that  he  likes  it,  and  would  have  it, 
I  say,  ere  long  'tis  his. 

L(yo.  Impossible. 

Over.  You  do  conclude  too  fast,  not  knowing 
me, 
Nor  the  engines  that  I  work  by.    Tis  not  alone 
The  lady  ^Iworth's  lands,  for  those  once  Well- 
horn's, 
(As  by  her  dotage  on  him  I  know  they  will  be,) 
Shall  soon  be  mine ;  but  point  out  any  man's 
In  all  the  shire,  and  say  they  lie  convenient. 
And  useful  for  your  lordship,  and  once  more 
I  say  aloud,  they  are  your's. 

Lm.  I  dare  not  oWn 
What's  by  unjust  and  cruel  means  extorted ; 
My  fame  and  credit  are  more  dear  to  me. 
Than  so  to  expose  them  to  be  censured  by 
The  public  voice. 

Over.  You  run,  my  lord,  no  hazard. 
Your  reputation  shall  stand  as  fair, 
In  all  good  men's  opinions,  as  now ; 
Nor  can  my  actions,  though  condemn'd  for  ill, 
Cast  any  foul  aspersion  upon  your's. 
For,  though  I  do  contemn  report  myself, 
As  a  mere  sound,  I  still  will  be  so  tender 
Of  what  concerns  you,  in  all  points  of  honour. 
That  the  immaculate  whiteness  of  your  fame, 
Nor  your  unquestioned  integrity, 
Shall  e'er  be  sullied  with  one  taint  or  spot 
That  may  take  from  your  innocence  and  candour. 
All  my  ambition  is  to  hav^e  my  daughter 
Right  honourable,  which  my  lord  can  make  her : 
And  might  I  live  to  dance  upon  my  knee 


A;NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DJiBTS.  565 

A  young  lord  Lovell,  born  by  lier  unto  yoii, 
1  write  nil  ultra  to  my  proudest  hopea. 
As  for  possessions,  and  annual  risnts, 
Equivalent  t6  mai^ttain.you  in  tbe  port 
Your  noble  birth,  and  present  state  requires, 
I  db  remove  that  bprthen  from  your  shoulders, 
And  take  it  pn  mine  own :  for,  though  I  vujn 
The  country  to  supply  your  riotous  waste^ 
The  scourge  of  prodigals>  want,  shall  never  find 
you. 

Lot>.  Are  you  not  frighted  with  the  imprecations 
And  curses  of  whole  families,  made  wretched 
By  your  sinister  practices  ? 

Over.  Yes,  as  rocks  are> 
When  foamy  billows  split  themselves  against 
Their  flinty  ribs;  or  as  the  moon  is  moved, 
When  wolves,  with  hunger  pined,  ho\yl  at  her 

brightness^ 
I  am  of  a  solid  temper,  and,  like  these, 
Steer  on,  a  constant  course:  with  mine  own  sword, 
If  caird  into  the  field,  I  can  make  that-right, 
Which  fearful  enemies  murmur'd  at  as  wrong. 
Now,  for  these  other  piddling  complaints 
jpreath'd  out  in  bitterness ;  as  when  they  call  me 
Extortioner,  tyra»t,  cormorant,  or  intruder 
On  my  poor  neighbour's  right,  or  grand  inclpser 
Of  what  was  common,  to  my  private  use; 
Nay,  when  my  ears  are  pierced  with  widows'  cries. 
And  undone  orphans  wash  with  tears  my  threshold, 
I  only  think  what  'tis  to  have  my  daughter 
Right  honourable ;  and  'tis  a  powerful  charm 
Makes  me  insensible  of  remorse,  or  pity, 
Or  the  least  sting  of  conscience. 

Lov.  I  admire 
The  toughness  of  your  nature. 

Over.  'Tis  for  you,  . 

My  lord,  and  for  my  daughter,  I  am  marble; 

VOL.  III.  *  P  p 


566  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Nay  more,  if  you  will  have  my  character 

In  little,  I  enioy  more  true  delight. 

In  my  arrival  to  my  wealth  these  tlark 

And  Crooked  ways,  than  you  shall  e*er  take 

pleasure 
In  spending  whslt  my  industry  hath  compass'd. 
My  haste  commands  me  heoce;  in  one  word^ 

therefore, 
Is  it  a  match  ? 
__  Lov.  I  hope,  that  is  past  doubt  now. 

Over.  Then  rest  secure;  not  the  hate  of  all 

mankind  here,* 
Nor  fear  of  what  can  fall  on  me  hereafter, 
Shall  make  me  study  aught  but  your  advancement 
One  story  higher :  an  earl !  if  gold  can  do  it. 
Dispute  not  my  religion,  nor  my  faith  ; 
Though  I  am  borne  thus  headlong  by  my  will. 
You  may  make  choice  of  what  belief  you  please^ 
To  me  they  are  equal ;  so,  my  lord,  good  morrow. 

[Eait. 
Lw.  He's  gone — I  wonder  how  the  earth  can 

bear 
Such  a  portent !  I,  that  have  lived  a  soldier, 
And  stood  the  eneniy^s  violent  charge  undaunted^ 
To  hear  this  blasphemous  beast  am  bath'd  all  over 
In  a  cold  sweat:  yet^  like  a  mountain,  he 
V      (Confirmed  in  atheistical  assertions) 
Is  no  more  shaken  than  Olympus  is 
When  angry  Boreas  loads  his  double  head* 
With  sudden  drifts  of.snow, 

«  ■    -■ —  iwt  the  hate  of  all  mankind  here,]  1 

know  not  why  the  modern  editors  omit  here;  not  onij  th« 
rhythm  but  the  sense  is  improved  by  its  restoration* 

9  i  than  Olympus  is 

When  angry  Boreas  loads  his  doable  head 

With  sudden  drifts  of  snow,']  Either  Massinger,  or  his  traUi- 
seriber,  has  mistaken  Oiyrapus  for  Parnassus :  it  may  be  tba 


A  NE\^  \f  ay  to  pay  old  debts.  S67 


Enter  Lddy  Ar.L\roRTH,  Waiting  Woman,  and^ 

Amble. 

L.  All.  Save  you,  my  lord ! 
Disturb  1  not  your  privacy  ? 

Lot).  No,  good  madam ; 
For  your  own  sake  I  am  glad  you  came  no  sooner : 
Since  this  bold  bad  man,  sir»Giles  Overreach, 
Made  such  a  plain  discovery  of  himself, 
And  read  this  morning  such  adevilish  matins, 
That  I  should  think  it  a  sin  next  to  his 
But  to  repeat  it. 

L.  All.  I  ne'er  press'd,  my  lord. 
On  others  privacies ;  yet,  against  my  will, 
Walking,  for  health  sake,  in  the  gallery 
Adjoining  to  your  lodgings,  I  was  made 
(So  vehement  and  loud  he  was)  partaker 
Of4Ms  tempting  offers. 

Lov.  Please  you  to  command 
Your  servants  hence,  and  I  shall  gladly  hear 
Your  wiser  counsel. 

L.  AIL  'Tis,  my  lord,  a  woman's, 
But  true  and  hearty  ; — wait  in  the  next  room, 
But  be  within  call ;  yet  not  so  near  to  force  me 
To  whisper  my  intents. 

Amb.  We  are  taught  better 
By  you,  good  madam. 

iVeman*  And  well  know  our  distance. 

X.  All.  Do  so,  and  talk  not ;  'twill  become  your 
breeding.  [E.veunt  Amble  atid  IVmnan, 

Now,  my  good  lord  :  if  I  may  use  my  freedom, 
As  to  an  honour'd  friend  ■  ■■ 


former,  for,  in  trusting  to  tbeir  memory,  such  slips  are  not 
onusnal  in  our  0ld  writers,  who  w^re  indeed  little  solicitoiu  ol 
accuracy  in  these  triyial  matters. 

♦  Pp2 


568  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Lov.  You  lessen  else 
Yoor  favour  to  me. 

L.  AIL  I  dare  then  say  thus  i 
As  you  are  noble  (howe'er  common  men 
Make  sordid  wealth  the  object  and  sole  end 
Of  their  industrious  aims)  'twill  not  agree 
With  those  of  eminent  blood,  who  are  engag'ed 
More  to  prefer  their  honours^  than  to  increase 
The  state  left  to  them  by  their  ancestors, 
To  study  large  additions  to  their  fortunes, 
And  quite  neglect  their  births  :--^though  I  muat 

'    grant, 
Riches,  well  got,  to  be  a  useful  servant, 
But  a  bad  master* 

Lov.  Madam,  *tis  confess'd ; 
But  what  infef  you  from  it  ? 

Z.  AIL  This,  my  lord ; 
That  as  all  wrongs,  though  thrust  into  one  scale, 
Slide  of  themselves  off,  when  right  fills  tbe  other, 
And  cannot  bide  the  trial ;  so  all  wealth, 
I  mean  if  ill  acquired,  cemented  to  honour 
By  virtuous  ways  achieved,  and  bravely  purchased. 
Is  but  as  rubbish  pour'd  into  a  river, 
(Howe'er  intended  to  make  .good  the  bank,) 
Rendering  the  water^  that  was  pure  before, 
Polluted  and  unwholesome,     1  allow     ' 
The  heir  of  sir  Giles  Overreach,  Margaret, 
A  maid  well  qualified,  and  the  richest  match 
Our  north  part  can  make  boast  of;  yet  she  cannot, 
With  all  that  she  brings  with  her,  (ill  their  mouths, 
That  never  will  forget  who  was  her  father; 
Or  that  my  husband  AUworth's  lands,  and  Well- 

born's, 
(How  wrung  from  both  needs  now  no  repetition,) 
Were  real  motives  that  more  work'd  your  lordship 
To  join  your  families,  than  her  form  and  virtues : 
You  may  conceive  the  rest. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  569 

Lov^  I  do,  sweet  madam. 
And  long  since  have  considered  it»     I  know, 
The  sum  of  all  that  makes  a  just  man  happy 
Consists  in  the  well  choosing  of  his  wife : 
And  there,  well  to  discharge  it,  does  require 
Equality  of  years,  of  birth,  of  fortune ; 
For  beauty  being  poor,  and  not  cried  up 
By  birth  or  wealth,  can  truly  mix  with  neither. 
And  wealth,  where  there's  such  difference  in^ 

years. 
And  fair  descent,  must  make  the  yoke  uneasy:— 
But  I  come  nearer. 

Z.  AIL  Pray  you  do,  itiy  lord.  - 
Lov.  Were  Overreach'  states  thrice  centupled, 
his  daughter 
Millions  of  degrees  much  fairer  than  she  is, 
Howe'er  I  might  urge  precedents  to  excuse  me, 
I  would  not  so  adulterate  n)y  blood 
By  marrying  Margaret,  and  so  leave  my  issue 
Made  up  of  several  pieces^  one  part  scarlet, 
And  the  other  London  blue.     In  my  own  tomb 
I  will  inter  my  name  first. 

Z.  AIL  I  am  glad  to  hear  this. [Aside. 

Why  then,  my  lord,  pretend  your  marriage  to 

her? 
Dissimulation  but  ties  false  knots 
On  that  straight  line,  by  which  you,  hitherto. 
Have  measured  all  your  actions. 

L(w.  I  make  answer, 
And  aptly^  with  a  question.  Wherefore  have  you, 
That,  since  your  husband's  death,  have  lived  a 

strict  ,    , 

And  chaste  nun's  life,  on  the  sudden  given  your- 
self 
To  visits  and  entertainments?  think  you,  madam, 
Tis  not  grown  public  conference?  or  the  fa- 
vours 


570  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Which   you    too    prodigally   have    thrown    oa 

Wellborn, 
Peing  too*  reserved  before,  incur  not  censure? 

L.  AlK  I  am  innocent  here ;  and,  on  my  life,  ( 
swear 
My  ends  are  good, 

Lov.  Oxx  my  soul,  so  arc  mine 
To  Margaret ;  but  leave  both  to  the  event ; 
And  since  this  friendly  privacy  does  serve 
But  as  an  oflfer'd  means  unto  ourselves, 
To  search  each  other  further,  you  having  shewn 
Your  care  of  me,  I,  my  respect  to  you ; 
Deny  me  not,  but  stilt  in  cnaste  words,  madam^^ 
An  afternoon's  discourse. 

J4»  4^L  So  \  shaU  hear  you.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

Before  Tapwell's  Hduse. 

Enter  Tapwelx.  and  F»oth. 

Tap.  Undone,  undone  1  this  was*  your  counsel 

Froth. 
Froth.  Mine  1  I  defy  tliee ;  did  not  master 
Marrall 
(He  has  marr'd  all,  I  am  sure)  strictly  command 

us, 
On  pain  of  sir  Giles  Overreach'  displeasure, 
To  turn  the  gentleman  out  of  doors  P 

Tap.  Tis  true ; 
But  now  he's  his  uncle's  darling,  and  has  got 

^  '  Being  too  reserved  brfore^J  This  is  the  reading  of  th^ 
quarto,  and  evidently  geni^ine :  it  does  not  how  ever  satisfj  Mr« 
M.  Mason ;  who  gifes  us,  on  his  own  authority,  Being  so  re^ 
served  before  ! 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  571 

Master  justice  Greedy,  since  he  fill'd  his  belly, 
At  his  commandment,  to  do  any  thing; 
Woe,  woe  to  us ! 

Froth.  He  may  prove  merciful. 

Tap.  Troth,  we  do  not  deserve  it  at  his  hands. 
Though  he  knew  all  the  passages  of  our  house. 
As  the  receiving  of  stolen  goods,  and  bawdry, 
When  he  was  rogue  Wellborn  no  man  would  be- 
lieve him, 
And  then  his  information  could  not  hurt  us ; 
But  now  he  is  right  worshipful  again, 
Who  dares  but  cioubt  his  testimony  ?  methinks, 
I  se^  thee,  Froth,  already  in  a  cart. 
For  a  close  bawd,  thine  eyes  even  pelted  out 
With  dirt  and  rotten  eggs;  and  my  hand  hissing. 
If  I  scape  the  halter,  with  the  letter  R 
Printed  upon  it* 

Froth.  Would  that  were  the  worst ! 
That  were  but  nine, days  wonder:  as  for  credit. 
We  have  none  to  lose,  but  we  shall  lose  the  money 
He  owes  us,  and  his  custom  ;  there's  the  hell  on't. 

Tap.  He  has  summoned  all  his  creditors  by  the 
drum. 
And  they  swarm  about  him  like  so  many  soldiers 
On  the  pay  day ;  and  has  found  out  such  a  n£W 

WAY 

To  PAT  HIS  OLD  DEBTS,  as  'tis  vcry  likely 
He  shall  be  chronicled  for  it ! 

Froth.  He  deserves  it 
More  than  ten  pageants.'    But  are  you  sure  his 

worship 
Comes  this  way,  to  my  lady's  ? 

[A  cry  within :  Brave  master  Wellbora  I 


'/M  V€ry  likdy 


Me  siatl  be  chronicled^rt^  / 

Froth.  He  deserves  it 
M9n  tkem  ten  pag«uit0.]  This  is  a  pleMUt  sUaaioQ  to  tli# 


57«  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTSt 

Tap.  Yes : — I  hear  him. 
J^roM.  Pereadywithyourpetition,auclpfes€Titit 
To  his  good  grace^ 

JSw/cr  Wel  L  BORN  in  a  rich  habit jfollmyed by  M  arr-. 
ALL,  Greedy,  Order,  Furnace,  and  Credii-; 
tors;  Tap  WELL  kneeling  j  delivers  his  petition. 


JVelL  How's  this!  petition'd  too? 


But  note  what  miracles  the  payment  of 
A  little  trash,  and  a  rich  suit  of  clothes 
Can  work  upon  these  rascals  !  I  shall  be^, 
I  think,  prince  Wellborn. 

Mar.  When  your  worship*s  married. 
You  may  be : — I  know  what  1  hope  to  see  you.. 

JVell.  Then  look  thou  for  advancement. 

Mar.  To  be  known 
Your  worship's  bailiff,  is  the  mark  I  shoot  at.. 

Well.  And  thou  shalt  hit  it 

Mar.  Pray  you,  sir,  dispatch 
These  needy  followers,  and  for  my  admittance,, 
Provided  you'll  defend  me  from  sir  Giles, 
Whose  service  I  am  weary  of,  I'll  say  something 
You  shall  give  thanks  for. 

Well.  Fear  me  not  sir  Giles.'; 

minute  indastry  with  whicb  HoUnsl^cl,  Stow,  Baker,  -dud  tke 
other  chroniclers  of  those  times^  cpllected  every  unimportant 
event  and  iudividnal  history,  to  swell  their  useful  but  desultory 
pages: 

^^  I  more  ▼olnminous  should  gr^w 
<<  Chiefly  if  I,  like  them,  should  tell 
**  All  kind  of  weather  that  befel, 
^*  Than  Holingshead  or  Stowe.'*  Ctralejf. 

The  reply  of  Froth  is  sarcastically  aimed  at  the  perverse  pains 
bestowed  by  the  former  of  these  writers  on  the  ridiculous  mum* 
inery,  under  the  name  of  pageants,  which  the  city  was  in  the 
habit  of  exhibiting  on  public  occasions* 
^  You  shall  give  thanks  for. 

Weil.   Fear  me  not  sir  OilesJ]    So  ^e  quarld:    The 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  573 

Greedy.  Who,  Tapwell?  I  remember  thy  wife 

brought  me, 
Last  new-year's  tide,  a  couple  of  fat  turkies. 
Tap.  And  shall  do  every  Christmas,  let  your 

worship 
But  stand  my  friend  now. 

Greedy.  How  I  with  master  Wellborn  ? 
I  can  do  any  thing  with  him  on  such  terms. — 
See  you  this  honest  couple,  they  are  good  souls 
As  ever  drew  out  fosset;  have  they  not" 
A  pair  of  hones^  faces  ? 

Well.  I  overheard  you. 
And  the  bribe  he  promised.     You  are  cozenM 

in  them ; 
For,  of  all  the  scum  that  grew  rich  by  my  riots, 
This,  for  a  most  unihankful  knave,  and  this. 
For  a  base  bawd  and  whore,  have  worst  deserv'd 

roe,* 
And  therefore  speak  not  for  them  :  by  your  place 
You  are  rather  to  do  me  justice  ;    lend  me  your 

ear : 
—Forget  his  turkies,  and  call  in  his  license} 
And,  at  the  next  fair,  I'll  give  you  a  yoke  of 

oxen 
Worth  all  his  poultrj% 

Greedif.  I  am  changed  on  the  sudden 
|n  my  opinion  !  come  near ;  nearer,  rascal. 


modern  editors  read : 

You  shall  give  me  thanks  for. 
Well.  F<ar  noty  sir  Giles. 
Which  18  not  metre  :  but  they  probably  did  not  understand  the 
phraseology  of  the  last  hemistich,  which  is  a  Gallicism  to  b« 
found  in  every  writer  of  Massinger's  time.     For  their  insertion 
of  me  in  the  former  I  catinot  pretend  to  account. 

♦  ■  M  .  have  worst  deserved  me,]  Here  again, 
from  ignorance  of  the  language,  tjie  Iftst  word  .is  thrown  out* 
Such  editors ! 


574  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS! 

And,  now  I  view  him  better,  did  you  e'er  see 
One  look  so  like  an  archknave  ?   his  very  coun'. 

tenance, 
Should  an  understanding  Judge  but  look  upon  him, 
Would  hang  him,  though  he  were  innocent. 
Tap.  Froth.  Worshipful  sir. 
Greedy.  No,  though  the  great  Turk  came,  in- 
stead of  turkies, 
To  beg  my  favour,  I  am  inexorable. 
Thou  hast  an  ill  name :  besides  thy  musty  ale, 
That  hath  destroyed  many  of  the  king's  liege 

people, 
Thou  never  hadst  in  thy  house,  to  stay  men's 

stomachs, 
A  piece  of  Suffolk  cheese,  or  gammon  of  bacon, 
Or  any  esculent,  as  the  learned  call  it, 
.For  their  emolument,  but  sheer  drink  only. 
For  which  gross  fault  I  here  do  damn  thy  license, 
Forbidding  thee  ever  to  tap  or  draw  ; 
For,  instantly,  I  will,  in  mine  own  person. 
Command  the  constable  to  pull  down  thy  sign, 
And  do  it  before  I  eat. 
Froth.  No  mercy  ? 
Greedy.  Vanish! 
If  I  shew  any,  may  my  promised  oxen  gore 
me! 
Tap.  Unthankful  knaves  are  ever  so  rewarded. 

[Ej;eunt  Greedy,  Tapwell,  and  Froth. 
Well.  Speak ;  what  are  you  ? 
1  Cred.  A  decay 'd  vintner,  sir, 
That  might  have  thrived,  but  that  your  worship 

broke  me 
With  trusting  you  with  muskadine  and  eggs, 
And  five  pound  suppers,  with  your  after  drinkings, 
When  you  lodged  upon  the  Bankside. 
Well.  I  remember. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  575 

1  Cred.  I  haA'^e  not  been  hasty,  nor  e'er  laid  to 

arrest  you ; 
And  therefore,  sir — 

TVelL  Thou  art  an  honest  fellow, 
I'll  set  thee  up  ^gain ;  see  his  bill  paid, — 
What  are  you  ? 

2  Cred.  A  tailor  once,  but  now  mere  botchen 
I  gave  you  credit  for  a  suit  of  clothes, 

Which  was  all  my  stock,  but  you  failing  in  pay- 
ment, 
I  was  removed  from  the  shopboard,  and  confined 
Under  a  stalU 

JVelL  See  him  paid  ;  and  botch  no  more. 

2  Cred.  I  ask  no  interest,  sir.  ' 

JVelL  Such  tailors  need  not ; 
If  their  bills  are  paid  in  one  and  twenty  year, 
Thev  are  seldom  losers. — O,  I  know  thy  face, 

\ToSCred. 
Thou  wert  my  surgeon  :  you  must  tell  no  tales ; 
Those  days  are  done.  I  will  pay  you  in  private, 

Ord.  A  royal  gentleman  ! 

Ikirn.  Royal  as  an  emperor !     ' 
He'll  prove  a  brave  master ;  my  good  lady  knew 
To  choose  a  man. 

fVeiL  See  all  men  else  discharged  ; 
And  since  old  debts  are  clear'd  by  a  new  way, 
A  little  bounty  will  not  misbecome  me ; 
sphere's  something,  honest  cook,  for  thy  good 

breakfasts; 
And  this,  for  your  respect ;  [7b  Order.}  take't, 

'tis  gooa  gold. 
And  I  able  to  spare  it. 

prd.  You  are  too  munificent. 

Furn.  He  was  ever  so. 

fFell,  Pray  you,  on  before. 

P  Cred.  Jieaven  bless  you  ! 


576  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTO. 

Mar.  At  four  o'clock  the  rest  know  where  to 
meet  me. 

[Ejceunt  Order^  Furnace^  and  Creditors. 
Well.  Now,  master  Marrall,  what's  the  weighty 
secret 
You  promised  to  impart  ? 

Mar.  Sir,  time  nor  place 
Allow  me  to  relate  each  circumstance. 
This  only,  in  a  word ;  I  know  Sir  Giles 
Will  come  upon  you  for  security 
For  his  thousand  pounds,  which  you  must  not 

consent  to.  * 

As  he  grows  in  heat,  as  I  am  sure  he  win. 
Be  you  but  rough,  and  say  he's  in  your  debt 
Ten  times  the  sum,  upon  sale  of  your  land ; 
I  had  a  hand  in't  (I  speak  it  to  my  shame) 
When  you  were  defeated  of  it. 
Well.  That's  forgiven. 

Mar.  I  shall  deserve  it:    then  urge  him  to 
produce. 
The  deed  in  which  you  pass'd  it  over  to  him, 
Which  I  kniow  he'll  have  about  him,  to  deliver 
To  the  lord  Lovell,  with  many  other  writings,   ^ 
And  present  monies :  I'll  instruct  you  further. 
As  I  wait  on  your  worship :  if  I  play  not  my  prize* 
Tp  your  full   content,  and  your  uncle's  muqh 

vexation. 
Hang  up  Jack  MarralL  - 

Well.  I  rely  upon  thee.  [Ejceunt. 


'  '  jfl  play  not  my  prize]   This  expression  is  fre- 

quently foand  in  our  old  writers,  yet  the  modern  editors  wan- 
tonly corrupt  it  here  and  ^Isewh^re  mU>'^ifIplAy  not  my  part*. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  S77 


SCENE  lit. 

A  Room  in  Overreach's  House,, 

Enter  Allwokth  a«</  MABGAEEt. 

» 

AIL  Whether  to  yield  the  first  praise  ta  my 
lord's 
tJnequaird  tetDperancCy  or  your  constant  sweet- 
ness, 
That  I  yet  live,  my  weak  hands  fastened  on 
Hope's  anchor,  spite  of  all  storms  of  despair, 
I  yet  rest  doubtful. 

Marg.  Give  it  to  lord  Lovell ; 
For  what  in  him  was  bounty,  in  me*s  duty. 
I  make  but  payment  of  a  debt  to  which 
My  vows,  rn  that  high  office  registered, 
(Are  faithful  witnesses. 

AIL  Tis  true,  my  dearest : 
Yet,  when  I  call  to  mind  how  many  fair  ones 
Make  wilful  shipwreck  of  their  faiths,  and  oaths 
To  God  and  man,  to  fill  the  arms  of  greatness ; 
And  you  rise  up  no  less  than  a  glorious  star,*  ^ 
To  the  amazement  of  the  world,— that  hold  out 
Against  the  stern  authority  of  a  father, 
And  spurn  at  honour,  when  it  comes  to  court  you ; 
I  am  so  tender  of  your  good,  that  faintly, 
With  your  wrong,  I  can  wish  myself  that  right 
You  yet  are  pleased  to  do  me. 

Marg.  Yet,  and  ever. 
To  me  what's  title,  when  content  is  wanting  ? 
Or  wealth,  raked  up  together  with  much  care, 
Aud  to  be  kept  with  more,  when  the  heart  pines, 

*  And  you  rise  vp  no  less  than  a  glorious  starl  No^  n^hich  is 
not  found  in  the  qqarto,  M^as  judiciously  inserted  by  Dodsley. 


sn  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBfW. 

In  being  dispossessed  of  what  it  longs  for, 
beyond  the  Indian  mines  ?  or  the  smooth  broM^ 
Of  a  pleased  sire,  that  slaves  me  to  his  will; 
And  so  his  ravenous  humour  may  be  feasted 
By  my  obedience,  and  he  see  me  great, 
Lieaves  to  my  soul  nor  faculties  nor  power 
To  make  her  own  election  P 

All.  But  the  dangers 
That  follow  the  repulse—^ 

Marg.  To  me  they  are  nothing  t 
Let  Allworth  love,  I  cannot  be  unhappy. 
Suppose  the  worst,  that,  in  his  rage,  he  kill  me ; 
A  tear  or  two,  by  voii  dropt  on  my  herse, 
In  sorrow  for  my  fate,  will  call  back  life 
So  far  as  but  to  say,  that  I  die  yours  ; 
I  then  shall  rest  in  peace :  or  should  he  prove 
So  cruel,  as  one  death  would  not  suffice 
His  thirst  of  vengeance,  but  with  lingering  tor- 
ments, 
In  mind  and  body,  I  must  waste  to  air. 
In  poverty  joined  with  banishment;  so  you  share 
In  my  afl9ictions,  which  I  dare  not  wish  you. 
So  high  I  prize  you,  I  could  undergo  them 
With  such  a  patience  as  should  look  down 
With  scorn  on  his  worst  malice. 

All.  Heaven  avert 
Such  trials  of  your  true  affection  to  me  ! 
Nor  will  it  unto  you,  that  are  all  mercy, 
Shew  so  much  rigour :  but  since  we  must  run 
Such  desperate  hazards^  let  us  do  our  best 
To  steer  between  them. 

Marg.  Your  lord's  ours,  and  sure  ; 
And  though  but  a  young  actor,  second  me 
In  doing  to  the  life  what  he  has  plotted, 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBtS.  579 

Enter  Overreach  behind. 

The  end  may  yet  prove  happy.    Now,  my  All* 
worth.  \Seeing  herjathetk 

AIL  To  your' letter,  and  put  on  a  seeming  angen 

Marg.  I'll  pay  my  lord  alldebts  due  to  his  title ; 
And  when    with   terms,   not  taking   from    his 

honour. 
He  does  solicit  me,  I  shall  gladly  hear  him. 
But  in  this  peremptory,  nay,  commanding  way, 
T'  appoint  ameetingy  and,  without  mjr  knowledge^ 
A  priest  to  tie  the  knot  can  ne'er  be  undone 
Till  death  unloose  it,  is  a  confidence 
In  his  lordship  will  deceive  him. 

All.  I  hope  better, 
Good  lady. 

Marg.  Hope,  sir,  what  you  please:  for  me 
I  must  take  a  safe  and  secure  course ;  I  have 
A  fatlier,  and  without  his  full  consent, 
Though  all  lords  of  the  land  kneerdfor  my  favour, 
I  can  grant  nothing. 

Over.  I  like  this  obedience :  \Comes  forward. 
But  whatsoe'er  my  lord  writes,  must  and  shall  be 
Accepted  and  embraced.  Sweet  master  AUworth, 
You  shew  yourself  a  true  and  faithful  servant 
To  your  good  lord  ;  he  has  a  jewel  of  you. 
How  I  frowning,  Meg?  are  these  looks,  to  receive 
Amessengerfrommy  lord?  what's  this?  givemeit« 

Marg.  A  piece  of  arrogant  paper,  like  the  in- 
;5criptions. 

Over.  iKeads."]  Fair  mistrenSy  from  your  servant 
learuy  all  joys 
That  we  can  hope  fir ^  ifdtferr'd^  prove  toys  ; 
Therefore  this  instant j  and  in  private^  meet 
A  husband^  that  mil  gladly  at  your  feet 
Lay  dofwn  his  honours^  tendering  them  to  you 
With  all  content,  the  church  being  paid  her  due^ 


580  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

— Is  this  the  arrogant  piece  of  paper  ?  fool ! 
Will  you  stilt  be  one  ^    in  the  name  of  madness^ 

what 
Could  his  good  honour  write  more  to  content  you? 
Is  there  aught  else  to  be  wish'd  after  these  two, 
That  are  already  offered  ;  marriage  first, 
And  lawful  pleasure  after:  what  would  you  more  ? 

Marg,  Why,  sir,  I  would  be  married  like  your 
daughter ; 
Not  hurried  away  i'  the  night  1  know  not  whither, 
Without  all  ceremony  ;  no  friends  invited 
To  honour  the  solemnity. 

All.  An  't  please  your  honour^ 
For  so  before  to  morrow  I  must  style  you, 
My  lord  desires  this  privacy,  in  respect 
His  honourable  kinsmen  are  far  off, 
And  his  desires  to  have  it  done,  brook  not 
So  long  delay  as  to  expect  their  coming ; 
And  yet  he  stands  resolv'd,  with  all  due  pomp. 
As  running  at  the  ring,  plays,  masks,  and  tilting. 
To  have  his  marriage  at  court  celebrated, 
When  he  has  brought  your  honour  up  to  London. 

Over.  He  tells. you  true;  'tis  the  fashion,  on 
uiy  knowledge  r 
Yet  the  good  lord,  to  please  your  peevishness,^ 
Must  put  it  off,  forsooth !  and  lose  a  night, 
In  which  perhaps  he  might  get  two  boys  on  thee* 
Tempt  me  no  further,  if  you  do,  this  goad 

[^Points  to  his  s^ord. 
Shall  prick  you  to  him. 

Marg.  I  could  be  contented, 

7  Ytt  the  good  lord,  to  please  your  peevishnesft,]  i.  c.  you;  bis 
daughter,  to  whom  he  gives  the  title.  I  have  sometimes  thought 
that  this  mode  of  eipression,  which  is  more  common  than  cur* 
Bory  readers,  perhaps,  imagine,  is  not  sufficiently  attended  toby 
the  commentators.  Many  difficulties  would  ranish  if  these  ap*. 
pellations  wejre  duly  noticed,  aod  applied.    * 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS,  581 

Were  you  but  by,  to  do  a  father's  part, 
And  give  me  in  the  church. 

Over.  So  my  lord  have  you,.    . 
What  do  I  care  who  gives  you  ?  since  my  lord 
Does  purpose  to  be  private,  I'll  not  cross  him. 
i  know  not,  master  AUworth,  how  my  lord 
May  be  provided,  and  therefore  there's  a  purse 
Of  gold, 'twill  serve  this  night's  expense;    to 

morrow 
1*11  furnish  him  with  any  sums :  in  the  mean  time, 
Use  my  ring  to  my  chaplain  ;  he  is  beneficed 
At  my  manor  of  Got'em,  and  call'd  parson  Willdo: 
'Tis  no  matter  for  a  license,  I'll  bear  him  out  in't. 

Marg.  With  your  favour,  sir,  what  warrant  is 
your  ring  ? 
He  may  suppose  I  got  that  twenty  ways, 
Without  your  knowledge ;  and  then  to  be  refused. 
Were  such  a  stain  upon  me  1 — if  you  pleased,  sir, 
Ybur  presence  would  do  better. 

Over.  Still  perverse  ! 
I  say  again,  I  will  not  cross  my  lord ; 
Yet  I'll  prevent  you  too.* — Paper  and  ink,  there  ! 

All.  I  can  furnish  you. 

Over,  i  thank  you,  I  can  write  then.  [fVrites. 

All.  You  may,  if  you  please,  put  out  the  name 
of  my  lord, 
In  respect  h€  comes  disguised,  and  only  write. 
Marry  her  to  this  gentleman. 

Over.  Well  advised. 
'Tisdone ;  away ! — [Margaret  kneels.}  My  blessing, 

girl  ?  thou  hast  it. 
Nay,  no  reply,  be  gone: — good  master  AUworth, 
This  shall  be  the  best  night's  work  you  ever  made. 

'  Yet  TU  prerent  yott  too.'\  From  the  Latin,  as  I  hare  already, 
obsenred.  I'll  anticipate  aU  your  objections. 
VOL,  III.  *  Q  q 


582  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS, 

j41L  I  hope  so,  sir.  • 

[Ed'eunt  Allworth  and  Margaret. 

Over.  Farewell ! — Now  all's  cocksure  : 
Methinks  I  hear  already  knights  and  ladles 
Say,  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  how  is  it  with 
Your  honourable  daughter?  has  her  honour 
Slept  well  to  night?  or,  will  her  honour  please 
To  accept  this  monkey,  dog,  or  paroqueto, 
(This  is  state  in  ladies,)  or  my  eldest  son 
To  be  her  page,  and  wait  upon  her  trencher  ? 
My  ends,  my   ends    are    compass'd — then   for 

Wellborn 
And  the  lands;   were  be  once  married  to  the 

widow 

I  have  him  here — I  can  scarce  contain  myself, 
I  am  so  full  of  joy,  nay,  joy  all  over.  [Eait 


ACT  V.     SCENE   I. 

A  Room  in  Lady  AUworth's  House. 

EnterLordLovELtj  Lady  AhtwoRTHyand  Amblj!^. 

L.  All.  By  this  you  know  how  strong  th#  mo- 
tives were 
That  did,  my  lord,  induce  me  to  dispense, 
A  little,  with  my  gravity,  to  advance, 

'  All.  /  hope  sOj  sir."]  I  cantiot  much  approre  the  copdoct 
of  this  jouDg  couple ;  it  is  too  full  of  artifice  and  deceits  Vn» 
doubtedly  the  insupportable  pride  and  tyranny  of  Orerreach 
make  him  a  proper  subject  to  be  practised  on ;  but  not  by  his 
daughter,  whose  character  has  been  hitherto  so  conducted  aa 
to  gain  the  esteem  of  ewety  reader. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  583 

In  personating  some  few  favours  to  him, 

The  plots  and  projects  of  the  down^trod  Wellborn. 

Nor  shall  I  e'er  repent,  although  I  suffer 

In  some  few  men's  opinions  for't,  the  action; 

For  he  that  ventured  all  for  my  dear  husband, 

Might  justly  claim  an  obligation  from  me, 

To  pa)'  him  such  a  courtesy  ;  which  had  I 

Coyly,  or  over-curiously  denied. 

It  might  have  argued  me  of  little  love 

To  the  deceased. 

Lov.  What  you  intended,  Madam, 
For  the  poor  gentleman,  hath  found  good  success; 
For,  as  I  understand,  his  debts  are 'paid. 
And  he  once  more  furnished  for  fair  employment : 
But  all  the  arts  that  I  have  used  to  raise 
The  fortunes  of  yourjoyand  mine,young  All  worth. 
Stand  yet  in  supposition,  though  I  hope  well : 
For  the  young  lovers  are  in  wit  more  pregnant 
Than  their  years  can  promise;  and  for  their  desires, 
On  my  knowledge,  they  are  equal. 

L.  AIL  As  *  my  wishes 
Are  with  yours,  my  lord ;  yet  give  me  leave  to  fear 
The  building,  though  well  grounded :  to  deceive 
Sir  .Giles,  that's  both  a  lion  and  a,fox     - 
In  his  proceedings,  were  a  work  beyond 
The  strongest  undertakers ;  not  the  trial 
Of  two  weak  innocents. 

Lov.  Despair  not,  madam  : 
Hard  things  are  compass'd  oft  by  easy  means ; 
And  judgment,  being  a  gift  derived  from  heaven. 
Though  sometimes  lodged  in  the  hearts  of  worldly 

men. 
That  ne'er  consider  from  whom  they  receive  it. 
Forsakes  such  as  abuse  the  giver  of  it. 


'  As  mil  wishes^  &c.]  As  is  changed  in  both  the  modern  edi. 
tions  into  Though,  for  no  better  reason,  I  believe,^  than  that  the 
editors  did  not  discover  the  sense  of  a  plain  passage. 

*Qq2 


584  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBT& 

Which  is  the  reason,  that  the  politic 
And  cunning  statesman,  that  believes  he  fathoms 
The  counsels  of  all  kingdoms^  on  the  earthy 
Is  by  simplicity  oft  over-reach'd.' 

Z.  Jll.  May  he  be  so !  yet,  in  his  name  to 
express  it, 
Is  a  good  omen. 

Lov.  May  it  to  myself 
Prove  so,  good  lady,  in  tny  suit  to  you ! 
What  think  you  of  the  motion? 

Z.  Jll.  Troth,  my  lord, 
My  own  unworthiness  may  answer  for  me  ; 
For  had  you,  when  that  I  was  in  my  prime, 
My  virgin  flower  uncropp'd,  presented  me 
With  this  great  favour ;  looking  on  my  lowness 
Not  in  a  glass  of  self-love,  but  of  truth, 
I  could  not  but  have  thought  it,  as  a  blessing 
Far,  far  beyond  my  merit. 

liOv.  You  are  too  modest, 
And  undervalue  that  which  is  above 
My  title,  or  whatever  t  call  mine. 
I  grant,  were  I  a  Spaniard,  to  marry 
A  widow  might  disparage  me;  but  being  . 
A  true-born  Englishman,  I  cannot  find 
How  it  can  taint  my  honour:  nay,  what's  more^ 
That  which  you  think  a  blemish,  is  t©  me 
The  fairest  lustre.    You  already,  madam. 
Have  given  sure  proofs  how  dearly  you  can  cherish 
A  husband  that  deserves  you ;  which  confirms  me^ 
That,  if  I  am  not  wanting  in  my  care 
To  do  you  service,  you'll  be  still  the  same 
That  you  were  to  your  AUworth :  in  a  word, 

*  Is  by  simplicity  oft  orer.reach'd.]  The  qnarto  reads,  and 
perhaps  by  design,  over-reach.  For  the  rest,  the  observation  is 
m  most  admirable  one,  and  ivorthy  of  all  praise.  It  maj  serire 
to  explain  manj  fancied  inconsistencies  in  the  conduct  of  the 
Overreaches  in  all  ages. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS,  58^ 

Our  years,  our  states,  our  births  are  not  unequal, 
You  being  descended  nobly,  and  allied  so ; 
If  then  you  may  be  won  to  make  rae  happy. 
But  join  your  lips  to  mine,  and  that  shall  be 
A  solemn  contract. 

Z.  AIL  I  were  blind  to  my  own  good, 
Should  I  refuse  it;  [Kisses  him.]  yet,  my  lord, 

receive  me 
As  such  a  one,  the  study  of  whose  whole  life 
Shall  know  no  other  object  but  to  please  you. 

Lov.  If  I  return  not,  with  all  tenderness, 
Equal  respect  to  you,  may  I  die  wretched  ! 

Z.  AIL  There  needs  no  protestation,  my  lord, 
To  her  that  cannot  doubt.-r- 

Enter  Wellborn,  handsomely  apparelled. 

You  are  welcome,  sir. 
Now  you  look  like  yourself. 
TVelL  And  will  continue 
[  Such  in  my  free  acknowledgment,  that  I  am 
\  Your  creature,  madam,  and  will  never  hold 
i  My  life  mine  own,  when  you  please  to  command  it. 
Lo*o.  It  is  a  thankfulness  that  well  becomes 
you ; 
You  could  not  make  choice  of  a  better  shape 
To  dress  vour  mind  in. 

Z.  AIL  For  me,  I  am  happy 
That  my  endeavours  prosper'd.    Saw  you  of  late 
Sir  Giles,  your  uncle  ? 

JVelL^  I  heard  of  him,  madam, 
By  his  minister,  Marrall;  he's  grown  into  strange 

gassions 
is  daughter :  this  last  nigl^t  he  look'd  for 

Your  lordship  at  his  house,  but  missing  you, 
And  she  not  yet  appearing,  his  wise  head 
is  much  perplex'd  and  troubled. 


586  A  NEW  WAY  TO  FAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Lov.  It  mav  be, 
Sweetheart,  my  project  took, 

L.  All.  I  strongly  hope. 

Orc^r.  Iwithin.l  Ha!  find  her,  booby,  thou  huge 
lump  of  nothing, 
I'll  bore  thine  eyes  out  else. 

JVdl.  May  it  please  your  lordship, 
For  some  ends  of  mine  own,  but  to  withdraw 
A  little  ought  of  sight,  though  not  of  hearing. 
You  may,  perhaps,  have  sport. 

Lov.  You  shall  direct  me.  [Steps  aside. 

Enter  Ov  ekreach,  with  distracted  looks,  driving  in 
Ma II II ALL  before  himj  with  a  box^ 

Over.  I  shall  sol  fa  you,  rogue  ! 

Mar.  Sir,  for  what  cause 
Do  you  use  me  thus  ? 

Over.  Cause,  slave !  why,  I  am  angry. 
And  thoii  a  subject  only  fit  for  beating, 
And  so  to  cool  my  choler.    Look  to  the  writing ; 
Let  but  the  seal  be  broke  upon  the  box, 
That  has  slept  in  my  cabinet  these  three  years, 
I'll  rack  thy  soul  for't. 

Mar.  I  may  yet  cry  quittance. 
Though  now  I  suffer,  and  dare  not  resist.  \Aside\ 

Over.  Lady,  by  your  leave,  did  you  see  my 
daughter,  lady  ? 
And  the  lord  her  husband?  are  they  iu  your 

•  house  ? 
If  they  are,  discover,  that  I  may  bid  them  joy; 
And,  as  an  entrance  to  her  place  of  honour, 
See  your  ladyship  on  her  left  hand,  and  make 
courtsies^ 


and  make  courtsies 


When  she  nods  on  you ;]  So  the  old  copy.    Coxeter  and  Mr. 
M*  Mason  strangely  read-^aod  make  coutit ! 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  587 

When  she  nods  on  you;  whichyou  must  receive 
As  a  special  favour. 

X.  Jll.  When  I  know,  sir  Giles, 
Her  state  requires  such  ceremony,  I  shall  pay  it; 
But,  in  the  mean  time,  as  I  ^m  myself, 
I  give  you  to  understand,  I  neither  know 
Nor  care  where  her  honour  is. 

Over.  When  you  once  see  her 
Supported,  and  led  by  the  lord  her  husband, 

You'll  be  taught  better, Nephew* 

fVell.  Sir, 
Over.  No  more  ! 
fFelL  'Tis  all  I  owe  you. 
Over.  Have  your  redecm'd  rags 
Made  you  thus  insolent? 
PFelL  Insolent  to  you  ! 
Why,  what  are  you,  sir,  unless  in  your  years. 
At  the  best,  more  than  myself? 
Overi,  His  fortune  swells  him  : 
*Tis  rank,  he's  married.  [Aside. 

,    L.  All.  This  is  excellent ! 

Over.  Sir,  in  calm  language,  though  I  seldom 
use  it, 
I  am  familiar  with  the  cause  that  makes  you    . 
Bear  up  thus  bravely ;  there's  a  certain  buz 
Of  a  stolen  marriage,  do  you  hear  ?  of  a  stolen 

marriage, 
In  which,  'tis  said,  there's  somebody*  hath  been 

cozen'd ; 
I  name  no  parties. 

Well.  Well,  sir,  and  what  follows  ? 
Over.  Marry,  this ;  since  you  are  peremptory^ 
Remember, 
Upon  mere  hope  of  your  great  match,  I  lent  you 
A  thousand  pounds :  put  me  in  good  security. 
And  suddenly,  by  mortgage  or  by  statute, 
Of  some  of  yx)ur  new  possessions,  orl'llhave-you 


588  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

DraggM  in  your  lavender  robes'  to  the  gaol:  you 

know  me, 
And  therefore  do  not  trifle. 

fFelL  Can  you  be 
So  cruel  to  your  nepheir,  now  he's  in 
The  way  to  riser  was  this  the  courtesy 
You  did  me  in  pure  love^  and  no  ends  else  f 

Over.  End  me  no  ends  I    engagfe  the  whole 
estate, 
And  force  your  spouse  to  sign  it,  you  shall  have 
Three  or  four  thousand  more,  to  roar  and  swagger^^ 
And  revel  in  bawdy  taverns. 

Well.  And  beg  after ; 
Mean  you  not  so  ? 

Over.  My  thoughts  are  mine,  and  free. 
Shall  I  have  security  ? 

JVell.  No,  indeed  you  shall  not, 
Nor  bond,  nor  bill,  nor  bare  acknowledgment;; 
Your  great  looks  fright  not  me. 
-  Over.  But  my  deeds  shall. 
Outbraved  !  {Both  dra&K 

L.  AIL  Help,  murder!  murder! 

Unter  $erv,ants. 

•  * 

JVell.  Let  him  come  on, 
With  all  his  wrongs  and  injuries  about  him, 
Arm'd  with  his  cut-throat  practices  to  guard  him;^ 

4  Dragg*d  in  your  laTeoder  robes  to  the,  gaol:  — -]  i.  e. 
your  clothes  which  have  been  just  redeemed  out  of  pawn.  (See 
p.  560.)  To  lay  a  thing  in  laxender  was  a  commqn  phrase  for 
pawning  it.  Thus,  in  Green's  Quippefor  an  upstart  Courtitr^ 
c*  3,—'^  There  is  he  ready  to  lend  the  looser  money  upon  rings 
and  chains,  apparel,  or  any  good  pawne^  but  \h^  poore  gentle- 
man paies  so  deare  for  the  lavender  it  is  laid  up  tit,  that  if  it  liet 
long  at  the  jbroker's  house,  he  seems  to  buy  his  apparel  twise.'^ 
i;he  expression  is  also  used  by  Jonson,  add  indeed  by  most  of 
ou^  old  poets.  .     r  . 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  589 

■ 

The  right  that  I  bring  with  me  will  defend  me. 
And  punish  his;  extortion. 

Over.  That  I  had  thee 
But  sinffle  in  the  field  ! 

Z.  All   Yod  may  ;  but  make  not 
My  house  your  quarrelling  scene. 

Over.  Were't  in  a  church, 
By  heaven  and  hell,  I'll  do't. 

Mar.  Now  put  him  to 
The  shewing  of  the  deed.        [Aside  to  Wellborth 

Well.  This  rage  is  vain,  sir ; 
For  fighting,  fear  qot,  you  shall  have  your  hands 

full, 
Upon  the  least  incitement ;  and  whereas 
You  charge  me  with  a  debt  of  a  thousand  pounds, 
If  there  be  law,  (howe'er  you  have  no  conscience,) 
Either  restore  my  land,  or  I'll  recover 
A  debt,  that's  truly  due  to  me  from  you, 
In  value  ten  times  more  than  what  you  challenge. 

Over.  I  in  thy  debt !  O  impudence !  did  I  not 
purchase 
The  land  left  by  thy  father,  that  rich  laiid, 
That  had  continued  in  Wellborn's  name 
Twenty  descents ;  which,  like  a  riotous  foolj^ 
Thou  didst  make  sale  of?   Is  not  here,  inclosed, 
The  deed  that  does  confirm  it  mine? 

Mar.  Now,  now ! 

fVell.  X  do  acknowledge  none ;  I  ne'er  pass'd 
over     ' 
Atiy  such  land  :  I  grant,  for  a  year  or  two 
You  had  it  in  trust;  which  if  you  do  discharge, 
Surrendering  the  possession,  you  shall  ease 
Yourself  and  me  of  chargeable  suits  in  law. 
Which,  if  you  prove  not  honest,  as  I  doubt  it, 
Must  of  necessity  follow. 

L.  AIL  In  my  judgment. 
He  does  advise  you  well. 


590  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

Over.  Good !  good  !  conspire 
With  your  new  husband,  lady ;  second  him 
In  his  dishonest  practices ;  but  when 
This  manor  is  extended  to  my  use,* 
You'll  speak  in  an  humbler  key,  and  sueforfavour. 

i.  AIL  Never:  do  not  hope  it. 

Well.  Let  despair  first  seize  me. 

Over.  Yet,  to  shut  up  thy  mouthy  and  make 
thee  give 
Thyself  the  lie,  the  loud  lie,  I  draw  out 
The  precious  evidence;  if  thou  canst  forswear 
Thy  hand  and  seal,  and  make  a  forfeit  of 

[Opens  the  boXy  and  displays  the  bond. 
Thy  ears  to  the  pillory,  sec!  here*s  that  will  make 
My  interest  clear — ha ! 

X.  AIL  A  fair  skin  of  parchment 

fVelL  Indented,  I  confess,  and  labels  too  ; 
But  neither  wax  nor  words.    How !.  thunder-^ 

struck  ? 
Not  a  syllable  to  insult  with  ?  My  wise  uncle, 
Is  this  your  precious  evidence,  this  that  makes 
Your  interest  clear? 

Over.  I  am  o'erwhelmed  with  wonder  ! 
What  prodigy  is  this  ?  what  subtle  devil 
Hath  razed  out  the  inscription  P  the  wax 
Turn'd  into  dust ! — the  rest  of  my  deeds  whole, 
As  when  they  were  deliver'dy  and  this  only 
Made  nothing!  do  you  deal  with  witches,  rascal? 
There  is  a  statute  for  you,  which  will  bring* 
Your  neck  in  an  hempen  circle;  yes,  there  is; 


— —  hut  when 


This  manor  is  extended  to  my  wjc,]  i.  e.  seized.  It  is  a  legal 
phrase,  and  occurs  coniinnaUy, 

•  There  is  a  statute /or  t/oti,  &c.]  This  statute,  ii?hich  unfor. 
tanately  brought  many  a  neck  into  a  hempen  circkf  was  made  in 
the  first  year  of  James.  It  decreed  the  punishment  of  death  for  a 
variety  of  impossible  crimes ;  which  yet  were  fully  prored  upon 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  591 

And  now  'tis  better  thought  for/  cheater,  know 
This  juggling  shall  not  save  you. 

Well.  To  save  theie, 
Would  beggar  the  stock  of  mercy. 

Over.  Marrall ! 

Mar.  Sir. 

Over.  Though  the  witnesses  are  dead,  your 
testimony 
Help  with  an  bath  or  two  :  and  for  thy  master, 
Thy  liberal  master,  my  good  honest  servant, 
I  know  thou  wilt  swear  any  thing,  to  dash 
This  cunning  sleight :  besides,  I  know  thou  art 
A  public  notary,  and  such  stand  in  law 
For  a  dozen  witnesses:  the  deed  being  drawn  too 
By  thee,  my  careful  Marrall,  and  delivered 
When  thou  wert  present,  will  make  good  my  title. 
Wilt  thou  not  swear  this^?         [Aside  to  Marrall. 

Mar.  I !  no,  I  assure  you  : 
I  have  a  conscience  not  sear'd  up  like  yours; 
I  know  no  deeds. 

Over.  Wilt  thou  betray  me  ? 

Mar.  Keep  him 
From  using  of  his  hands,  I'll  use  my  tongue, 
To  his  no  little  torment. 

Over.  Mine  own  varlet 
Rebel  against  me  !  _ 

Mar.  Yes,  and  uncase  you  too. 
The  ideoty  the  Patchy  the  slave^  the  booby ^^ 

a  number  of  poor  ignorant  superannuated  wretches,  whd  were 
cajoled  or  terrified  into  a  confession  of  them.  This  diabolical 
law  was  repealed  about  the  middle  of  the  last  century. 

7  And  now  ^tis  better  thought  for,]  This  is  right ;  and  per« 
fectly  agreeable  to  the  practice  of  Massinger's  time,  indeed,  of 
all  times;  yet.  Mr.  M.  Mason  is  not  content,  but  abttrariljr 
reads,  And  nov>  'tis  better  thought  of! 

*  The  ideot,  the  Patch,  the  slave,  &c.]  The  Tengeance  of  a 
)Utle  mindj  confident  of  its  canniDg,  is  happily  portrayed  in  tha 


592  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

The  property  Jit  only  to  be  beaten 

For  your  morning  exercise^  your  football^  or 

Tlie  unprofitable  lump  ofJUsh^  your  drudge  ; 

Can  now  anatoniize  you,  and  lay  open 

All  your  black  plots,  and  level  witn  the  earth 

Your  hill  of  pride:    and,   with  these  gabions 

guarded. 
Unload  my  great  artillery,  and  shake, 
Nay  pulverize,  the  walls  you  think  defend  you. 

Xr.  All  How  he  foams  at  the  mouth  with  rage! 

JVelL  To  him  again. 

Over.  O  that  I  nad  thee  in  my  gripe,  I  would 
tear  thee 
Joint  after  joint ! 

Mar.  1  know  you  are  a  tearer. 
But  I'll  have  first  your  fangs  pared  off,  and  then 
Come  nearer  to  you ;  when  I  have  discovered, 
And  made  it  good  before  the  judge,  what  ways, 
And  devilish  practices,  you  used  to  cozen  with 
An  army  of  whole  families,  who  yet  alive. 
And  but  enroll'd  for  soldiers,  were  able 
To  take  in  Dunkirk.* 

Well.  All  will  come  out. 

recapitulation  of  those  abasive  terps  w^ich  had  been,  at  Tark>us 
times  lavished  upon  Marrall,  and  which,  though  he  submitted 
to  them  in  silence,  he  had  carefully  treasured  up  till  the  occasion 
should  offer  of  retorting  them  with  sarcastic  triumph  and  exul* 
tation. 

^  An  army  of  whole  families,  who  yet  aliTe, 
And  but  enrolVdfor  soldiers,  were  able 
To  take  in  Dunk%rk,'\  This  speech  is  very  erroneously  given 
by  Coxeter  and  Mr.  M.  Mason.    For  /tvf,  the  reading  of  the 
old  copy,  I  have  ventured  to  substitute  alive  ;  as  I  believe  that 
the  author  had  in  view  a  passage  in  the  Virgin^  Martyr  : 
,  **  Were  the  Christians, 
^^  Whose  names  stand  here,  alive  and  armM,  not'  Rome 
^'  Could  move  upon  her  hinges.'^  Vol.  I,  p.  100. 

To  take  ui,  means  to  subdue,  to  seize.    The  modem  editors 
ignorant  of  this,  (and,  I  may  venture  to  add,  after  thenumerooa 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  593 

L.  All.  The  better. 

Over.  But  that  I  will  live,  rogue,  to  torture 
thee, 
And  make  thee  wish,  and  kneel  in  vain,  to  die. 
These  swords,  that  keep  thee  from  me,  should  fix 

liere, 
Although  they  made  my  body  but  one  wound, 
But  I  would  reach  thee. 

Lov.  Heaven's  hand  is  in  this  ; 
One  bandog  worry  the  other  !  [Aside; 

Over.  I  play  the  fool, 
And  make  my  adger  but  ridiculous : 
There  will  be  a  time  and  place,  there  will  be, 

cowards, 
When  you  shall  feel  what  I  dare  do. 

fVeU.  I  think  so : 
You  dare  do  any  ill,  yet  want  true  valour 
To  be  honest,  and  repent 

Over.  They  are  words  I  know  not. 
Nor  e'er  will  learn.  Patience,  the  beggar's  virtue, 

Enter  Greedy  and  Parson  Willdo.*  . 

Shall  find  no  harbour  here  : — after  these  storms 
At  length  a  calm  appears.     Welcome,  most  wel* 

come! 
There's  comfort  in  thy  looks  ;  is  the  deed  done  ? 
Is  my  daughter  married  ?  say  but  so,  my  chapflain. 
And  I  am  tame.  , 

instances  which  we  hare  already  had  of  this  familiar  expression, 
incxcuseably  ignorant^)  strike  out  in,  and  reduce  the  line  to 
mere  prose !  ^ 

>  Enter  Grvedt  and  Parson  Willdo.]  So  the  parson  is 'called 
In  the  list  of  dramatis  personse,  apd  in  every  part  of  the  play : 
yet  I  know  not  for  what  reason  the  modem  editors  continually 
call  him  WeU^do.  They  must  hare  as  .little  notion  of  humour, 
as  of  the  true  character  of  Orerreach,  if  th^y  imagine  this  to  b^ 
the  better  name. 


594  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

JVilldo.  Married  !  yes,  I  assure  you. 
Over.  Then  vanish  all  sad  thoughts !  there *s 
more  gold  for  thee. 
My  doubts  and 'fears  are  in  the  titles  drown'd 
Of  my  honourable,  my  right  honourable  daughter. 
Greedy.  Here  will  be  feasting !  at  least  for  a 
month) 
I  am  provided :  empty  guts,  croak  no  more, 
You  shall  bestufF*d  like  bagpipes,  not  with  wind. 
But  bearing  dishes.' 

Over.  Instantly  be  here  ? 

{Whispering  to  Wilido. 
To  my  wish  !  to  my  wish  !  Now  you  that  plot 

against  me,' 
And  hoped  to  trip  my  heels  up,  that  contemn'd 

me, 
Think  on't  and  tremble: — [Loud^usic] — they 

come  !  I  hear  the  mu'^ic. 
A  lane  there  for  my  lord  ! 
fVell.  This  sudden  heat 
May  yet  be  cool'd,  sir. 

Over.  Make  way  there  for  my  lord  ! 

*  But  bearing  dishesJ]  i.  e.  solid,  substantial  dishes ;  or  what 
the  steward  (in  the  Unnatural  Combaty  Vol.  I.  j>.  165,)  calb 
portly  Tlands.  I  mention'  this  because  the  word  is  frequently 
mistaken : 

*^  Cloudesle  with  a  bearing  arrowe 

"  Clare  the  wande  in  two.*'  Old  Ballad. 

^^  A  bearing  arrow/'  sajs  Strutt,  ^^  i^  an  arrow  shot  compass, 
i.  e.  so  as  the  arrow  in  its  flight  fqrmed  a  segment  of  a  circle." 
And  so  we  get  the  praise  of  accuracy !  A  bearing  arrow  is,  in 
three  words,  a  strong  and  weighty  arrow. 

'  To  my  wish  t  to  my  wish !  Now  you  that  plot  against  tne^  &c.] 
How  much  better  does  this  express  the  eager  triumph  of  Over- 
reach, than  the  tame  and  unmetrical  reading  of  Coxeter  and 
Mr.  M.  Mason  t  they  omit,  to  my  wish  !  which,  as  they  probably 
counted  the  syllables  upon  their  fingers,  appeared  to  them  a 
grief  ous  redundancy. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  595 


Enter  Allworth  and  Maroaret. 


Marg.  Sir,  first  your  pardon,  then  your  bless^* 
ing,  with 
Your  full  allowance  of  the  choice  I  have  made. 
As  ever  you  could  make  use  of  your  reason, 

\KneeUng^ 
Grow  not  in  passion ;  since  you  may  as  well 
Call  back  the  day  that's  past,  as  untie  the  knot 
Which  is  too  strongly  fastened  :  not  to  dwell 
Too  long  on  words,  this  is  my  husband. 

Orer.  How ! 

All.  So  I  assure  you ;  all  the  rights  of  marriagCi 
With  every  circumstance,  are  past.    Alas  !  sir, 
Although  I  am  no  lord,  but  a  lord's  page, 
Your  daughter  and  my  loved  wife  mourns  not  for  it; 
And,  for  right  honourable  son-in-law,  you  may  say^ 
Your  dutiful  daughter. 

Over.  Devil !  are  they  married  ? 

Willdo.  Do  a  father's  part,  and  say.  Heaven 
give  them  joy  ! 

Over.  Confusion  and  ruin !  speak,  and  speak 
quickly. 
Or  thou  art  dead. 

Willdo.  They  are  married. 

Over.  Thou  hadst  better 
Have  made  a  contract  with  the  king  of  fiends^ 
Than  these : — ^my  brain  turns  ! 

TVilldo.  Why  this  rage  to  me  ? 
Is  not  this  your  letter,  sir,  and  these  the  words  ? 
Marry  her  to  this  gentleman. 

Over.  It  cannot— 
Nor  will  I  e'er  believe  it,  'sdeath  !  I  will  not ; 
That  I,  that,  in  all  passages  I  touch'd 
At  worldly  profit,  have  not  left  a  print 
Where  I  have  trod,  for  the  most  curious  search 


596  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS;       . 

To  trace  my  footsteps,  should  be  guU'd  by  children  j 
Baffled  and  fool'd,  and  all  my  hopes  and  labours 
Defeated,  and  made  void. 

fVelL  As  it  appears. 
You  are  so,  my  grave  uncle. 

Over.  Village  nurses 
Revenge  their  wrongs  with  curses;  I'll  not  waste 
A  syllable,  but  thus  I  take  the  life 
Which,  wretched,  I  gave  to  thee. 

[Attempts  to  kill  Margaret. 

Lov.  [coming Jbrward.l  Hola,  for  your  own  sake! 
Though  charity  to  your  daughter  hath  quite  left 

you. 
Will  you  do  an  act,  though  in  your  hopes  lost  here, 
Can  leave  no  hope  for  peace  or  rest  hereafter  ? 
Consider ;  at  the  best  youi  are  but  a  man, 
And  cannot  so j:''eate  your  aims,  but  that 
They  may  be  cross'd. 

Over.  Lord  !  thus  I  spit  at  thee, 
And  at  thy  counsel ;  akid  again  desire  thee^^ 
And  as  thou  art  a  soldier,  if  thy  valour 
Dares  shew  itself,  where  multitude  and  example 
Lead  not  the  way^  let's  quit  the  house,  and  change 
Six  words  in  private. 

Lov.  I  am  ready. 

L.  All.  Stay,  sir. 
Contest  with  one  distracted  ! 

JVell.  You'll  grow  likexhim, 
Should  you  answer  his  vain  challenge. 

Over.  Are  you  pale  ? 
Borrow  his  help,  though  Hercules  call  it  odds, 
I'll  stand  against  both  as  I  am,  hemm'd  in  thus. — 


and  again  desire  thee^ 


And  as  thou  art  a  soldier^ to  quit  the  hovse^  &c.]  I  sboaM 

not  have  thought  this  called  for  an  explanation,  bad  not  Mr.  M. 
Mason  chosen  to  misunderstand  it,  and  alter  the  text :  he  reads 

and  again  diefy  thee. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS,  597 

Since,  like  a  Libyan  lion  in  tlie  toil, 

My  fury  cannot  reach  the  coward  hunters^ 

And  only  spends  itself,  I'll  quit  the  place : 

Alone  I  can  do  nothing;  but  I  have  servants, 

And  friends  to  second  ine ;  and  if  I  make  not 

This  house  a  heap  of  ashes,  (by  my  wrongs, 

What  I  have  spoke  I  will  make  good !)  or  leave 

One  throat  uncut,— if  it  be  possible, 

Hell,  add  to  my  afflictions  !  [E.vit. 

Mar.  Is't  not  brave  sport?* 

Greedy.  Brave  sport!  I  am  sure  it  has  ta'en 
away  my  stomach  ; 
I  do  not  like  the  sauce. 

All.  Nay,  weep  not,  dearest, 
Though  it  express  your  pity  ;  what's  decreed 
Above,  we  cannot  alter. 

Z.  All.  His  threats  move  me 
No  scruple,  madam. 

Mar.  Was  it  not  a  rare  tricky 
An  it  please  your  wors:hip,  to  make  the  deed 

nothing  ?  ^ 

I  can  do  twenty  neater,  if  you  please 
To  purchase  and  grow  rich ;  for  I  will  be 
Such  a  solicitor  and  steward  for  you, 
As  never  worshipful  had. 

fFelL  I  do  believe  thee  ;  ] 

But  first  discover  the  qXiaint  means  you  used 
To  raze  out  the  conveyance  ? 

Mar,  They  are  mysteries 
Not  to  be  spoke  in  public :  certain  minerals 
Incorporated  in  the  ink  and  wax. — 
Besides,  he  gave  me  nothing,  but  still  fed  me 
With  hopes  and  blows ;  and  that  was  the  induce- 
ment 

*  Is't  not  hrtvoe  sport  f]  Nothing  can  more  strongly  mark* the 
mean,  selfish,  unfeeling,  and  bratal  character  of  this  unprincipled 
wretch,  than  these  four  words. 

VOL.  III.  ♦  R  r 


L 


S9S  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

To  this  conundrum.     If  it  please  your  worship 
To  call  to  memory,  this  mad  beast  once  caused  me 
To  urge  you,  or  to  drown  or  hang  yourself; 
I'll  do  the  like  to  him,  if  you  command  me. 

JVell.  You  are  a  rascal !  he  that  dares  be  false 
To  a  master,  though  unjust,  will  ne'er  be  triie 
To  any  other.     Look  not  for  reward 
j  Or  favour  from  me;  I  will  shun  thy  sight 
'  As  I  would  do  a  basilisk's:  thank  my  pity, 
;  If  thou  keep  thy  ears ;  howe'er,  I  will  take  order 
\  Your  practice  shall  be  silenced. 

Greedy.  I'll  commit  him, 
If  you  will  have  me,  sir. 

fVelL  That  were  to  little  purpose ; 
His  conscience  be  his  prison.     Not  a  word. 
But  instantly  be  gone. 

Ord.  Take  this  kick  with  you. 
Amb.  And  this. 

Furn»  If  that  I  had  my  cleaver  here, 
I  would  divide  your  knave's  head.' 

Mar.  This  is  the  haven 
False  servants  still  arrive  at  [Ejnt. 

Re-enter  Oyerbeach. 

L.  All.  Come  again  ! 
.  Lov.  Fear  not,  I  am  your  guard. 
Well.  His  looks  are  ghastly. 
JVilldo.  Some  little  time  I  have  spent,  under 
your  favours, 
In  physical  studies,  and  if  my  judgment  err  not, 
He's  mad  beyond  recovery :  but  observe  him, 
And  look  to  yourselves. 

Over.  Why,  is  not  the  whole  world 
Included  in  myself?  to  what  use  then 
Arc  friends  and  servants.^   Say   there  were  a* 
squadron 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  599 

Of  pikesy  lined  through  with  shot,  when  I  am 

mounted 
Upon  my  injuries,  shall  I  fear  to  charge  them  ? 
No:  I'll  through  the  battalia,  and  that  routed, 

{Flourishing  his  sword  sheathed. 
I'll  fall  to  execution. -^Ha !  1  am  feeble : 
Some  undone  widow  sits  upon  mine  arm, 
And  takes  away  the  use  oft ;  and  my  sword, 
Glued  to  my  scabbard  with  wrong'd  orphans' tears, 
Will  not  be  drawn.     Ha  !  what  are  these  ?-  sure, 

hangmen. 
That  come  to  bind  my  hands,  and  then  to  drag  me 
Before  the  judgment-seat:  now  they  are  new 

shapes. 
And  do  appear  like  Furies,  with  steel  whips 
To  scourge  my  ulcerous  soul.     Shall  I  then  fall 
Ingloriously,  and  yield  ?  no  ;  spite  of  Fate, 
I  will  be  forced  to  hell  like  to  myself. 
Though  you  were  legions  of  accursed  spirits, 
Thus  would  I  fly  among  you. 

[Rushes  forwardy  and  flings  himself  on  the  ground. 

Well.  There's  no  help ; 
Disarm  him  first,  then  bind  him. 

Greedy.  Take  a  mittimus. 
And  carry  him  to  Bedlam. 

Lo*o.  How  he  foams  ! 

Well.  And  bites  the  earth  ! 

Willdo.  Carry  him  to  some  dark  room. 
There  try  what  art  can  do  for  his  recover}^' 

Marg.  O  my  dear  father  ! 

\They  force  Overreach  off^ 

*  As  this  is  the  last  appearance  of  sir  Giles,  it  may  not  be 
amiss  \.f^  ad?ert  to  the  catastrophe  of  his  real  history.  ^^  Sir 
Giles  Mompesson  was  summoned  to  appear  before  the  House 
of  Commons  to  the  charges  made  afi;ainst  him;  by  the  llous^^  be 
was  committed  \o  the  custody  of  the  serjeant  at  arms,  from 
whose  charge,  by  stratagem  or  coaHiTancey  he  escaped.     On 

*RrS 


600  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

AIL  You  must  be  patient,  mistress. 

Lov.  Here  is  a  precedent  to  teach  wicked  men, 
That  when  they  leave  religion,  and  turn  atheists^ 
Their  own  abilities  leave  them.     Pray  you  take 

comfort, 
I  will  endeavour  you  shall  be  his  guardians 
In  his  distractions  :  and  for  your  land,  master 

Wellborn, 
Be  it  good  or  ill  in  law,  TU  be  an  umpire 
Between  you,  and  this,  the  undoubted  heir 
Of  sir  Giles  Overreach :  for  me,  here's  the  anchor 
That  I  must  fix  on. 

All.  What  you  shall  determine. 
My  lord,  I  will  allow  of. 

fVell.  Tis  the  language 
That  I  speak  too ;  but  there  is  something  else 
Beside  the  repossession  of  my  labd, 
And  payment  of  my  debts,  that  I  must  practise. 
I  had  a  reputation,  but  'twas  lost 
In  my  loose  course  ;  and  until  I  redeem  it 
Some  noble  way,  I  am  but  half  made  up« 
It  is  a  time  of  action  ;  if  your  lordship 
!  Will  please  to  confer  a  company  upon  me, 
In  your  command,  I  doubt  not,  in  my  service 
To  my  king,  and  country,  but  I  shall  do  something 
1  That  may  make  me  right  again. 

Lov»  Your  suit  is  granted, 
And  you  loved  for  the  motion. 

the  3rd  of  March,  16%,  a  proclamation  was  issued  for  hia  ap- 
prehension (Rjmer's  Fwdera^  Tom.  xvii.  984.)  He  effected  his 
flight  over  sea,  and  this  proclamation  was  followed  by  another 
on  the  30th  of  the  same  month,  expelling  and  banishing  him 
the  king's  dominions,  he  being  degraded  of  the  order  of  knight- 
hood."   {Fcsdera^  Tom.  xiiu  ^9,)     Gilchrist. 

With  respect  to  his  associate  and  abettor ,  sir  Francis  Michel, 
(Justice  Greedy,)  he  also  was  degraded,  then  fined  a  thousand 
pound,  carried  on  horseback  through  the  principal  streets, 
with  his  face  to  the  tail,  and  imprisoned  for  life. 


A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS.  601 

fVelL  [coming  forward.]  Nothing  wants  then 
But  your  allowance — and  in  that,  our  all 
Is  comprehended ;  it  being  known^  nor  we^ 
Nor  he  that  wrote  the  comedy,  can  be  free. 
Without  your  manumission  ;  which  if  you 
Grant  willingly,  as  a  fair  favour  due 
To  thepoefsy  and  our  labours,  (as  you  may,) 
For  we  despair  not,  gentlemen,  of  the  play  : 
JVe  jointly  shall  profess  your  grace  hath  might 
To  teach  us  action,  and  him  how  to  write,  [Exeunt/ 

^  We  find  that  the  players  in  Massinger's  age  did  ^^  not  des- 
pair" of  the  success  of  this  Comedy :  and  the  continuance  of  the 
public  favour  has  justified  their  confidence  in  its  merit.    Indeed 
it  possesses  many  qualifications  for  the  stage.    The  principal 
event,  though  subject  to  an  objection  which  will  be  presently 
noticed,  is  conceived  ;with  much  novelty  and  humour.     During 
its  progress  many  entertaining  incidents  arise,  and  a  strong  and 
lively  picture  is  presented  of  domestic  manners.     Its  useful 
tendency  is  also  as  prominent  as  the  amusement  which  it  con- 
.fessediy  brings.     No  Play  of  Massinger  is  marked  with  more 
variety  or  seriousness  of  moral;    from  Wellborn  we  learn, 
that  he  who  squanders  his  substance  an  the  unworthy,  shall  be 
rewarded  with  Ingratitude  and  insult ;  and  that  the  return  of 
wealth  brings  but  little  satisfaction  unless  it  be  accompanied 
with. a  returning  sense  of  honour : — ^from  the  associates  of  Ovef. 
reach,  that  vicious  friendships  are  but  treacheries,  false  in  their 
principle,  even  while  they  last,  and  spurned  alike  by  virtue,  both 
while  they  last,  and  when  they  fail  :-*and  fVom  Overreach  him. 
self,  that  there  is  a  secret  hand  which  counteracts  injustice,  in. 
fatuates  subtilty,  and  turns  the  arts  of  selfishness  into  folly  and 
rain.     His  madneiss  is  judicial :  and  Massinger  holds  him  out  to 
ithe  world, 

<«  __— -  a  precedent  to  teach  wicked  men 

^^  That  when  they  leave  religion,  and  turn  atheists, 

*'  Their  own  abilities  leave  them.— — - 

This  character  is  drawn  with  great  force  ;  and  as  the  story  pro. 
ceeds.  Overreach  takes  place  of  Wellborn  in  the  attention  of  the 
reader.  He  is  divided  between  avarice. and  vanity;  avarice 
which  grows  from  his  nature  as  its  proper  fruit;  and  vanity 
which  is  grafted  upon  the  success  of  his  avarice.  In  this  part 
we  meet  with  strong  marks  of  a  disposition  basely  aspiring.    Ho 


602  A  NEW  WAY  TO  PAY  OLD  DEBTS. 

hetny9  bis  fiilgar  joy  on  account  of  the  expected  alliance;  to 

those  from  whom  prudence  and  delicacy  would  equally  conceal 

it ;  and  he  glories  in  the  prospect  eren  of  his  own  humiliation 

in  the  presence  of  his  daughter,  and  looks  with  satisfaction  to 

the  moment  when  his  ? ery  prerogatires  as  a  father  shall  be  kept  i 

in  awe  by  her  superior  rank.  | 

The  othpr  characters  extend  their  influence  beyond  themselres. 
The  mild  di^cnity  of  lord  Lovell  and  lady  AUworth  agreeably 
reliere  the  harshness  of  O? erreach  ;  and  a  similar  effect  is  pro- 
duced by  the  attractive  innocence  and  simplicity  of  Margaret 
and  her  lorer*  •  But  here  an  obsenration  most  be  made,  of  a 
less  faTonrable  nature :  by  a  practice  too  common  with  Mas- 
singer,  the  better  characters  forget  their  delicacy,  and  are  de-  j 
graded.  Lovcll  might  secretly  promote  the  Tiews  of  Allworth  :  1 
but  ^^hi1e  he  does  this,  he  ought  not  to  treat  with  Overreach  on 
his  own  account.  Lady  Allworth  is  equally  faulty,  and  her  un- 
expected and  whimsical  adoption  of  Wellbocn  ill  agrees  either 
with  her  retirement,  her  principles,  or  her  express  reprobation 
of  his  character.  The  two  loyers  also  lose  their  simplicity  ;  and 
when  the  father  is  to  be  deceived,  they  suddenly  become  crafty 
beyond  their  years,  their  nature,  and  knowledge  of  the  world. 
But  ail  this  was  well  known  to  Massinger ;  and  he  has  prorided 
certain  acknowledgments  for  it.  Lovell  and  the  lady  call  each 
other  to  acconnt  for  the  aj[)parent  strangeness  of  their  proceed- 
ings, and  are  mutually  excused  by  the  motives  on  which  they 
act ;  and  the  spleen  of  Massinger  seems  io  have  been  so  strong 
against  Orerreach,  that  he  thought  a  departure  from  character 
not  unpardonable)  provided  he  coald  have  the  satisfaction  of 
shewing  him  outwitted  by  ^^  two  weak  innocents,**  and  '^  gulled 
by  children."  The  editor  has  produced  sufficient  proof  tha^  a 
Teal  person  was  aimed  at  In  Overreach.  The  circumstance  just 
mentioned  is  one  of  the  many  internal  marks  of  such  a  design. 
The  reprehension  is  rehement  and  incessant ;  and  consistency 
If  disregarded,  while  ignominy  or  ridicule  is  heaped  upon  the 
obnoxious  person.  This  secret  purpose  seems  to  have  l>een  the 
real  occasion  of  the  severity  which  marks  some  of  the  scenes: 
they  are  more  passionate  than  playful;  and  have  rather  the 
properties  of  direct  and  urgent  satire,  than  the  sportiveness  and 
versatility  of  comic  wit. 

END  07  .VOL.  III. 


J 

J 


London:  Printed  by  W;Bulmer  and  Co. 
Cttvdand-Rew,  St  James '«•